


Precious Roses

by planetofthewillow



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 12:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1649306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/planetofthewillow/pseuds/planetofthewillow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By chance Berwald receives a phone call and finds himself shortly thereafter adopting a son. The son's past is complicated, just as Berwald and his husband Tino's is. When dark histories intermingle, maybe it's best to wait for that train.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: So It Begins

**Prologue: So It Begins**

Children take hold of a very special part of Tino's heart. The sweet love that fills the heart, the cherubic face, and, oh, the pure innocence!

Tino lounged on the couch, looking up towards the blank ceiling. He was still young, hardly half way through his twenties. Yet, he touched his stomach, longing for a womb, and dreamt of having a child. Be it a boy or a girl, be it quiet or noisy, be them docile or rambunctious! Berwald noticed Tino day dreaming again and approached him, bending over and placing a kiss on Tino's head.

Tilting his head back to look at Berwald, Tino sighed. His blue, crystalline eyes glittered with emotion. He reached for Berwald's hand, which rested on his shoulder, and gently pressed it.

"You want a baby, don't you?" Berwald asked in a soft voice.

"More than I want anything, Berwald…" Tino responded. Slowly, he pushed himself off the couch, disrupting the blanket on it and causing it to slide back. Berwald caught it and set it away as Tino went, swaying and humming to himself, to the window. He fancied himself with a child in his arms. He rocked the imaginary baby and, realizing how foolish he must look, leaned against the window. His milky white arms fell away from the imaginary baby and dropped to his sides, like fallen leaves.

Outside, snow fell down in thick layers, blanketing the earth in a white sheet. Berwald watched his lover forlornly. He loved that man with all his heart. He loved Tino more than he could imagine and it broke his heart that they couldn't have children at will. Tino considered adopting but something always got in the way.

Well, Berwald should have expected it. Ever since he had taken Tino on dates, Tino always spoke of the sweet, pure things. Children appeared in conversations more than he could count, especially of late.

"Tino, I love you," Berwald said, trying to comfort Tino.

Tino did not change his expression. He only nodded weakly.

In one month his wish came true.

Berwald woke up in the dead of night to his phone blaring. Tino grumbled and shifted in the covers, his shoulders bunching up and his knees rising to his chest. The room was bathed in chrome moonlight. Berwald picked up his cell phone, standing up and walking out of the room.

The speaker was Arthur, all the way across the globe in York, England.

"Hello?"

Berwald began to respond but Arthur overrode him.

"Oh, Berwald, I have a favor to ask of you." Arthur sounded slightly panicked, on the verge of tears almost.

"What is it?" Berwald asked, leaning against one of the walls and rubbing his neck. He could hear the washing machine rumble, vibrating the walls. Tino shifted in the other room, muttering something and throwing the bed spread off.

"You like children, don't you? If I recall correctly last time I saw you Tino was going on and on about having a kid. Right?"

"Yes…?" Berwald frowned, wondering where this was going.

Arthur cleared his throat on the other end. "Well, I seem to have come across an orphan boy. He's only a babe as of now, hardly two years old, and he needs some parents."

"Do you expect me to go across the world to collect a child?" Berwald mumbled. He was uncomfortable talking to strangers, especially over the phone. Even though he had seen Arthur several times, he still didn't call him a "friend". Then again this offer was irresistible. It would call an end to Tino's longing and would bring a homeless child a family. Morally it was perfect.

"Actually you won't have to!" Arthur interjected brightly, "No, no, not at all. I'm coming over in a week and I'll bring the child along. Goodness people will gawk but nevertheless, you'll have a baby boy."

"I should ask Tino…"

"Do you really think he'll reject this offer?"

"No…"

"Then what's there to worry your head about?" Arthur laughed shortly. "I know it's late but I needed to make sure you were alright with all this. His name is Peter, by the way. Not to waste more of your time, good night!" Arthur hung up and Berwald was greeted with a bright flash of his phone, piercing the darkness, and silence.

He shuffled back into the bedroom, setting his phone on the bedside. He slipped into bed, greeted by Tino's warm, outreaching hands. He collected Berwald in his arms, burying his face in Berwald's shoulder.

"What was it…?" he whispered, already starting to fall back to sleep.

"We have a child now."

"That's nice…" Tino fell asleep, not having heard what Berwald said clearly.

In the morning, when he rose to find Berwald knocked out cold in a deep sleep, it dawned on him what Berwald had said.

He yawned and looked at Berwald's sleeping form. Tears of joy sprung from his eyes and it was all he could do to refrain from crying out. He bent forwards, kissing Berwald's strong jaw and broad nose that sloped down to a smooth tip.

Berwald opened one eye, cracking a smile.

Tino hummed in glee and sprung out of bed. Berwald watched him go, quite content.


	2. Promises

**1\. Promises**

On the due hour, Berwald received a text message from Arthur's phone number. He sat waiting patiently in the living room, having taken the day off for this very reason. Tino was away at work; light hearted and cheerful as always.

His phone buzzed and he sprang up, looking at it.

Arthur had texted him, apologizing that he would not actually be present at the adoption process, and entailed an address and time, in two hours.

Berwald stiffened and tucked his phone into his pocket, putting the address away in his memory. He stood and slowly walked around the house to kill time. He brewed himself a coffee, leaning against one of the counters.

A kid, huh?

He thought about it, wondering if he actually was prepared at all. He had dreams about raising a child. Usually they began low-key. He would be sitting in the living room, playing with a little toddler. Different dreams took different courses. Sometimes the child multiplied into dozens and he could not account for all at once. Sometimes the child suffered from some illness or swallowed something dangerous.

In all those dreams Tino was never present. He was a shadow in the far back, watching how Berwald preformed with uncharacteristically calculating eyes and cold shakes of his head.

Berwald thought back to these dreams uneasily, stirring his coffee and sipping it. He couldn't taste it.

The week leading up to this, Tino and Berwald frantically prepared the house for the child's arrival. Berwald didn't have a distinct idea as to the boy's age, but he knew he could not have been older than five. They child proofed the house, bought some child-friendly foods, a car seat, and some toys. The rest would come when the child's age became apparent. If he was but an infant, a fresh new born, then they would buy high chairs and the likes.

Finally Berwald, having spent an hour building up his nerves and considering the gravity of the situation, decided that it was time to get going. The place Arthur told him to go to was a good distance away, nearly forty minutes from home. Berwald knew that if you wanted to be somewhere, better be five minutes early. If they wanted you there, though, be five minutes late.

He went outside, locking his house up, and took a deep breath.

He was stepping into an entirely different realm of existence.

Best to step with the right foot forward, then.

The sun beat down on the clean suburban neighborhood. Mountains were visible in the distance, brown and green and nearly tangible in their clarity. Spring settled evenly. Trees flourished with clean green leaves and flowers budded everywhere, upsetting allergy-infested people everywhere.

He climbed in his car, hot from the sun, and drove to the destined location. The sky was a sharp, clear blue. Several thick clouds rolled along the surface.

Berwald drove in peace, almost forgetting his pressing moral issue. He clicked on the radio and listened to several light hearted dance songs, tapping his fingers to the rhythm.

He arrived at the place five minutes early, as he planned, and went in.

The place hardly took up more space than a shabby apartment. The interior was spotless, hosting a variety of soft pastel colors and several children's drawings pinned up one the walls. At the front desk, crammed to one side, a young woman browsed through her computer, filing information. Her hair was tied back. Her cheek bones were high and her eyes a murky shade of green.

Berwald approached and greeted her. She smiled briefly.

"What brings you here today?" she asked, prying herself away from the screen.

"I'm here to pick up a child. I believe he's under the name Peter…? Dropped off by an Arthur Kirkland."

"Oh, certainly," she gestured for another nurse to come over.

The nurse went over immediately. She did not smile at Berwald nor did her expression change when she received her orders. "Follow me," she said, turning around and leading Berwald behind her. Her light blonde hair was wrapped in a braid which was accumulated in a precise bun. Not a strand of hair fell into her long, clear, and somehow pretty face. Her lips were pursed and pale. She wore a blue nurse's suit, just like all the others, and it did not capture any of her body and made it seem as though she was wearing a plastic bag.

She went past a room filled with infants in cradles, some being viewed by couples eager to adopt. They passed the next room, too, where the really small toddlers played with fake kitchen and hair salon sets. She did stop at the somewhat older kid's group. Here the children were anywhere from six to ten. There were no other rooms beyond. Berwald conjectured that older children were shipped off to other places, so as not to bother the kids.

She led Berwald into the back corner and told him to wait as she approached a little boy. The boy wore light blue shorts and a white shirt, all a size too big for him. He sat on the steps that led up to the bedrooms, looking at his feet mournfully. He was at least eight, nine at most.

Oh, an older kid. Berwald thought without any particular change of heart.

The nurse spoke to him in a gentle voice, her entire appearance shifted. She was one of those people who softened around animals and kids, Berwald figured, and she did not seem able to understand how to talk with adults.

The boy looked up when she approached him with a weary expression. His eyes were bright and full of vigor, but at the same time were covered by a film of exhaustion and melancholy. He did not speak once while the nurse talked to him. His face was round and freckled over. His hair, sharing a remarkable resemblance to Arthur, was a mess of blonde, tinged with brown in some spots. He stood up once the nurse ordered him to and followed timidly. Other kids looked at him briefly before resuming their game. He had been signaled out, apparently.

"Go to the front desk, you'll have to fill out some forms. I'll do the rest." She told Berwald and he obliged.

Berwald took a seat at the lobby room and told Peter to sit near him. Peter did so, proving himself rather docile and obedient.

"How old are you?" Berwald asked.

"Eight and three months," Peter said, flashing a smile, and then looking away.

"So you know Arthur?" Berwald found his voice to be harsh and tried to refrain from being so gruff, but he was always this way. Tino should have picked the boy up.

Peter shrugged. "I guess. He brought me here. I saw him sometimes when I lived with Auntie."

Berwald nodded, adding his signature for the twelfth time and flipping the page to find that he had yet more information to fill out.

"Well, you'll be coming home with me now."

Peter shrugged again, remaining silent.

"Peter, come here," a short, middle-aged woman said. "We have some things for you." Peter looked at Berwald, who nodded, and shuffled off reluctantly.

A young man came up to sit by Berwald.

Berwald looked at him curiously. The young man had tightly curled blonde hair and a pleasant smile on his face. "Hi, I'm the social worker. I just have some information in regards to Peter. I'm sure you want to know of his home life before, don't you?"

Berwald nodded, setting the pen down after having filled out the last line.

"So Peter is real strange case, actually." The young man began, leaning back and letting his smile slip away, "the man who brought him in signed him in under his own surname, but as a temporary thing. The details of that are unclear as of now. Anyway, he's an illegitimate child, abandoned by his parents and left to live with Mr. Kirkland's relative. He lived there ever since he was two and up until last year when the relative passed away. No one else was willing to take him up do to some reasons I'll explain in a moment, so he ended back up in the care of Kirkland. He was then juggled back and forth between some people and ended up here, and now with you. You can imagine the kind of trauma and childhood trouble this gives him. I'm no psychologist, but I'd advise you to be real nice and gentle with him. Raise him right, like you'd heal a wound, but add some extra care.

"The reason no one really wanted him around is because the medical bills would sky rocket. He's epileptic and has a bad immune system. That part can't be helped, not like with pills for his epilepsy, but really all you have to do is be ready to have him home sick a lot. Usually they aren't too bad, a cold or a fever. Other than that there really isn't much issue. He's a nice, quiet kid who I'm sure you'll be thankful you let into your home." With that the young man shook Berwald's hand and left.

Peter returned with a purple valise and a piece of candy.

"Do you want to say goodbye to anyone?" Berwald said, picking up his phone. He'd need to tell Tino to buy some medication for Peter. Peter shook his head, rubbing his eye and yawning. He was still jet lagged. "Do you have any medicine with you?"

Peter set down his bag and unzipped a front pocket, pulling out an orange tube filled with pills.

Berwald put his phone away. He'd tell Tino when he got home.

He offered Peter's hand, but the boy refused.

"It takes a while to open up to people, doesn't it?" Berwald said, speaking sincerely from experience.

Peter didn't respond and followed behind Berwald like a shadow.

He climbed into the car seat, buckling himself in. He refused to let go of his valise, not exactly trusting Berwald. Berwald got in the front and shot Peter a strained smile. Peter responded with a ghost of a grin.

They drove in silence. Peter leaned his forehead against the warm window, watching the world flit by and drinking it all in. His chin began to nod ten minutes in. In another two minutes he fell into a light doze.

When they arrived home, Peter was deeply asleep. Berwald smiled. It was cute, certainly, and also so pure. Peter appeared so innocent in that moment, the one completely good thing in the world. Berwald picked him up, finding him surprisingly light, and took the valise in the other hand. Involuntarily, Peter snuggled his head into Berwald's chest, listening to his heart pound as though it were a lullaby.

Berwald set Peter down in the guest bedroom, which now was his, and covered him with a blanket. He slipped Peter's shoes off and set them down, going back downstairs into the kitchen to cook dinner.

Tino arrived shortly thereafter. He smiled broadly at the sight of Berwald and kissed his cheeks. "Is he here?" he asked in a small voice that trembled with excitement.

"He's asleep. He's eight years old, by the way, and epileptic."

Tino nodded. None of that bothered him. A kid! Oh, finally, a kid!

When dinner neared completion, Tino crept upstairs to Peter's room. He knocked on the door and slowly pushed it open, peering inside.

Peter sat on the bed, quite awake. He swung his legs on the side, stretching his toes and watching out it stretched his socks. He looked over calmly when Tino entered, raising his small hand to wave in greeting. Tino beamed and walked over. Peter looked over him. He decided he liked Tino. Tino was certainly an attractive man, short, prettily molded and bestowed with slender, feminine hands. His hair, pale and delicate, fell like silk into his round face. He sat down by Peter.

"How do you like it here so far, Peter?" he asked.

"I like it here, sir."

"Oh don't call me sir. Call me dad, or papa, or mama, or whatever you please. It'd be nice to be a mother…" Tino trailed off and then looked back at Peter curiously. "How old are you?"

"Eight years and three months old."

"You're getting big, huh?"

Peter shrugged.

Tino stood back up. The smell of dinner; cooked meat and soup, seeped into the air.

"After dinner you can explore the house, get to know it. How does that sound?"

Peter followed Tino around the house, telling him that it sounded good.

He ate dinner hungrily, but all the more quietly. He chewed slowly, tasting different parts of the food, and then hunkered down to shovel it in. His stomach growled with hunger. He didn't know when he had eaten last. Was it with Arthur?

Alas, Arthur and that world he left behind were no more than distant memories imprinted in his mind. He would never be able to efface them, but he could water them down, keep thinking about them until they didn't hurt anymore. This was a new life with new, nice looking people.

No matter how badly those memories hurt. No matter how hard it was to think of the neglect and the sour looks he received. No matter how long it took him to feel no more pain for them—he would never forget them. He didn't want to. They would build him up. He was only eight years old.

Hardship does a lot to a person.

After dinner he explored the house. There were two bedrooms, his and his new parent's. They were nearly equal in size, except for a larger closet in the parent's one. There were three bathrooms, two upstairs and one downstairs. The kitchen led into the dining room by a narrow passageway. The furniture was a lofty, high-end, bleached white style. Colors were never blends or oily, but one color all the way. Yellows were bright yellows and when yellow ended the next color began with segue.

His own room had little décor, only a twin sized bed, a drawer, a closet, and his little bag. He began to unpack then, setting his clothing away in the drawers, since he couldn't reach the hangers in the closet. He had three books with him, and he put them on the drawer. They were:  _Oliver Twist_ by Charles Dickens,  _To Kill a Mockingbird_ by Harper Lee, and  _A Journey to the Center of the Earth_ by Jules Verne. These were his favorite books from when he lived in Auntie's house. He didn't have many friends and instead delved into the world of literature, devouring books even if he didn't really understand what was happening. When Auntie was beginning to die she told him to pick his favorite books out and keep them. He originally chose four by Arthur told him to drop one and stick with three. The three he stuck with he must have read a dozen times each, and yet he never grew bored of them.

Tino entered his room when he began to set his valise under his bed, hoping he wouldn't have to use it for a long time. Yet, he doubted that hope. He felt like a guest in this house. He really couldn't believe that he was actually  _moving into_ this house—into the family.

Tino watched him push the bag under and walked over. He looked over the contents of the room, his arms crossed. He wore a silk bathrobe over some green pajamas. His skin had a pink tinge one gets after a hot bath. The ends of his tails were still wet.

"You like to read?" Tino asked, looking at the books.

Peter nodded.

"Well, we'll get you more books! Lots and lots of them!" Tino laughed. It was a ringing, clear sound that filled the room. Even after he ceased laughing, the sound echoed in the air. Tino went into the closet and picked up one of the shirts, pulling up the tab and reading it.

Peter made no objection.

Tino examined the size and looked through the rest of the clothing: two shirts and three pants. Some of his underwear was in the drawers. It was all a bare minimum, as if he had packed for a two-day trip.

"We need to get you some clothes," Tino said, looking back at Peter. "Do you have any night clothes?"

"No."

"Oh we're so unprepared! I'm sorry," Tino added. Peter said that it wasn't his fault. "You'll just have to wear one of Berwald's shirts. Is that alright with you?"

Before Peter could respond Tino had already left to get one of Berwald's t-shirts. He returned and tossed it to Peter, pulling him into a brief hug. He was tempted to kiss Peter's forehead when it struck him that perhaps they had not yet become accustomed enough to do so. He felt ashamed of barging in and being nosy.

"I keep forgetting that it's your first day here. I feel like you've been here since your birth." Tino said in a gentle, moving tone. For some reason his voice reminded Peter of a calm wave crashing against a shore. "Things will get better for you, promise… Promise me you'll try just as hard as I will to make up all those lost years?" He held out his pinky, slightly crooked and pink at the nails.

Peter regarded it carefully. He raised his own pinky and locked it with Tino's.

"I promise."


	3. Chance Meeting

**2\. Chance Meeting**

Three weeks before Peter was supposed to be in school, Berwald lost his job. This event was unrelated to Peter's coming home, a fact which the boy refused to accept, and was instead in the hands of several events. When Berwald took a day off work to adopt Peter, he knew a risk had presented itself. Then, after that, he took a vacation to tend to Peter.

Berwald had convinced himself that Peter needed to be accompanied by at least one of his new parents at all times—at least for a few weeks. Berwald took the holiday in the hopes of bonding with the boy. Even though Tino loved Peter beyond all measures and was a very active and cheerful parent, he did not want to take time off work at the time. Berwald's love was more complacent and, yet, more fierce than Tino's.

During the holiday Berwald took Peter out to several parks and bought him ice cream and the books he wanted. He still had a decent amount of savings piling up. He took Peter around the country, showing him the markets, the places that he should avoid, and the places he could walk to whenever he pleased. Peter drank all this information in without hesitation, his eyes wide and fascinated. He scarcely said a word.

At the end of his holiday, Berwald left for work early in the morning with Tino at home. He woke earlier than usual that morning, yawning and stretching. He stood up, looking around the room bathed in early morning light. Beside him, Tino curled on the bed. He wore a light shirt and underpants, apparently having found himself hot during the night. Berwald smiled, admiring his lover. Tino's hair fell into his closed eyes, the eyelashes fluttering every once in a while. His chest rose and fell evenly with the deep breaths of sleep. His fine, pale legs were bent slightly. One hand he kept at his head, and the other tucked between his thighs. Berwald kissed Tino's forehead and stood up, pulling the covers over the frail body.

Then he revised his thoughts. That body was far from frail. It only appeared to be thin and docile when he was at rest, which was often. But Berwald had seen Tino perform extraordinary feats with that body. He had seen him destroy the enemy and annihilate obstacles with something close to superhuman, even godly, prowess.

As he put on his shirt and placed a tie on his shoulders, pinching its soft fabric and looping it around, he thought of how he had met Tino. It was a chance meeting, actually. They were both high school students, cruising through life to the best of their abilities, when they met in the library. Berwald had his head ducked over a book on engineering, but nothing he read entered his mind. Instead, thoughts of his at-home troubles kept intruding, spilling in like dirty water.

Tino saw him there and must have sensed that Berwald was being troubled. He took a book from his bag and sat down by the larger male. At the time Berwald didn't have the muscle mass yet. His arms were bony and soft. His face had the same shape, but on a teenager spotted over with blemishes, it was awkward and cumbersome. His glasses didn't fit exactly and he had to constantly adjust them.

"Hello," Tino said after leafing through the book, one with pictures of forests and bogs.

Berwald looked up suddenly, not expected to have been addressed. "Hello," he replied.

Tino offered him a tiny smile. The twinge of his lips enraptured Berwald's heart at once. At the time Tino wore thin-framed blue glasses. They were still with him, but had been demoted to the use as reading glasses only.

Berwald, thinking about all these memories, turned back to look at where Tino slept. On the counter beside him those glasses were perched on the alarm clock, they frames catching the light and blocking what was on the other side of them. He sighed, collecting energy for the day, and put on his belt and went out of the room, softly shutting the door behind him. He came over to where Peter slept. The door stood ajar. He peered in and saw Peter asleep on his back. His eyes were screwed shut and his lip curled up to show white baby teeth. There was a gap where his top right canine should be. He had lost it several nights before and Tino took the liberty of placing a few coins beneath his pillow. In exchange, he took the blunt tooth and went to their closet, finding behind his old school clothes and a folded up dress a box once used for some sort of jewelry. He tucked the tooth inside and hid it away. When Peter would lose another tooth, that's where it would go.

Peter slept soundly. The first few nights he slept little. Whether it was due to jet lag or some other inner turmoil was not apparent. Berwald went over to him, his stocking feet not making a sound on the carpet. He brushed away thick blonde bangs and bent down, kissing Peter's forehead. Peter shifted slightly, but did not wake up.

Berwald ate breakfast and downed a cup of coffee, slipping on his shoes and going over to his car. Once he sat down, the memories of his and Tino's first meeting continued as though never interrupted.

After a quick greeting and the discovery that Tino was a year older than Berwald, they fell into a calm silence. Berwald enjoyed how Tino spoke. He didn't speak with any hesitation or regret. He said some sensitive things as though they were nothing. They hurt, Berwald could see, but they had long since ceased to sting.

Most of these "sensitive" things Tino talked about were struggles within his own family. His brother had died at the tender age of three, his mother had fallen sick with grief, and his father tried to comfort her. This all made it so that Tino was abandoned. Tino wandered through the school and the world alone, from then on. He got good grades and he read often, but it was all without heart. He received a good grade with no happiness on his part. School was just a process and he thought it was just best to do it as well as he could.

Berwald explained after Tino finished speaking that he, too, got several decent scores and even once made top grade. He received it with great joy, however. Unlike Tino, he found himself dependent on others, bound by a tight rope of love that filled his heart.

He didn't mention love, however. He knew it was strange for a teenager like him to commit to such a heavy feeling with conviction and he remained silent.

Tino said he had to leave, and he bade Berwald goodbye.

Berwald after that chance meeting felt a fluttering in his stomach. He later learned that the feeling was the spurring of romantic, eternal love. He met Tino several more times in the library. One the tenth meeting, he asked Tino if he wanted to go on a date.

Tino suddenly blushed, something Berwald hadn't seen him do before. The veins under his skin constricted and turned his flesh pink.

"I'd love to," he said, quietly.

For their first date they went to an aquarium. At the end, under the unreal light of fluorescents and the gloomy glow of the fish tanks, Berwald asked Tino to come again sometime. Again, Tino blushed and said he would love to do so.

The second date they went to the park. They walked for an hour, under the golden twilight. They spoke of harmless things. At the end, once they reached were Tino's neighborhood began, Tino, being an inch or so shorter than Berwald, raised himself on his toes and placed a warm kiss on Berwald's cheek. Berwald then had his turn to blush. He forgot to ask Tino on another date. He had no means to contact Tino, either.

Berwald smiled to himself, still feeling that warm touch of those two, soft, beautifully crafted lips on his cheeks. Even though Tino afterwards had given him many kisses, this one still felt special. He drove up to his building and parked, getting out and entering the towering, expressionless structure. Going into the elevator, he had a distinct sense that things had somehow changed since his previous exploit to his office.

When he entered, everything had gone. Empty cubicles lined the halls, desks without chairs or objects stretched on and on. Berwald stood, struck dumb. He checked to see if he had entered the right room, and swallowed. The movement was a simply constricting of his throat, but it felt like he had engulfed an entire, liquid, tangible substance of surprise and horror in that swallow. He made his way down the desks and stopped at his own cubicle. The chair was gone, but on top of the desk sat a cardboard box. Inside were all his personal supplies and, on the very top of it all, a picture of Tino. He stood watching the snow. Berwald, being an amateur photographer, had seen the way Tino stood, gazing out at the falling snow like flecks of powder, and felt an omnipotent urge to capture it. He and Tino adored it so much they had it framed. It sat on his desk, right beside his computer for a long time.

The bathroom door swung open. Berwald looked up to find one of his coworkers exiting, rubbing his hands together.

"What happened?" Berwald asked.

The man turned to look at him, hardly surprised. Perhaps there had been a constant flow of people coming to collect their things all day. He ran thick fingers through his short black hair.

"Oh, well, the company was finally bought out. We packed up yesterday. I'm just here until nine tonight to lock up the place for good. You're the last one, though, to pick up their stuff, I mean. Maybe I'll just leave…" he said, directing the end of his monologue towards himself.

"I see," Berwald said, not in the mood for any surprises. How would he even tell Tino of this? He took his box and left without saying goodbye.

He packed the box into the passenger seat and drove away from the building for the last time. Granted, his job had been bland and uneventful. But it was still a job that pooled in money.

As he returned home, Berwald found it too painful to think of the present and reverted to pondering the past.

For an entire week after the second date, Berwald did not see Tino. He went to the library, to the upperclassmen hallway, and even to the park and aquarium. Still, there was no sign of the young man.

Several days of this absence passed and Berwald decided that if, that day, Tino did not show up, he would abandon all hope of it. His gut feeling told him that. So far his gut feeling hadn't been wrong. He remained at school well after class ended, wandering the halls like a homeless spirit. Teachers glanced at him and asked if he wanted something.

"No, I'm just waiting."

"Okay, but if you need anything just ask."

Berwald smiled at her and she left him there. An hour passed and he still couldn't find Tino. Why he had remained at school was beyond him. If Tino hadn't been there during actual classes, why would he bother showing up now? Maybe he could come over to see what he missed. Or maybe some relative would come. No, no relative seemed to care much about Tino anyway. Tino would have to come himself, sniffling and coughing if need be.

A heavy rain began pouring outside. The fat drops clattered against the ceiling and windows. Standing at his locker, Berwald watched it come tearing down, ripping free from the clouds above and hurtling down a million miles per hour. Berwald took his backpack and a little umbrella he kept there just in case. Berwald liked to be well prepared. He went outside, out to where the batting cages were, and popped the umbrella open. He held it over his head and ducked into the rain, now certain that Tino would show up now or never. As he walked on, he saw someone ambling towards him in the distance. His heart leaped up to his mouth.

There he was!

But it proved to be a much younger boy, tears streaming down his face and mixing with the rain.

He stopped before Berwald and stammered something, but grunting and turning the opposite direction, racing and splashing in the puddles. On the slick pavement he tripped and scrapped his knee. Berwald walked over and picked the boy up, holding him by the elbow.

"What's wrong?" He asked.

"Where's my sister?" he said, now sobbing and snot-nosed.

"Come in," Berwald said. When he tried to be compassionate, he always sounded stoic and uncaring. So he took the boy into the building and dried him off with a towel from the pool area. The boy sat there, weeping silently and wiping his nose on the towel. Water dripped off of his shorts and soaked his shirt. Berwald knew he was incapable of handling such matters, and he has helped to the best of his ability. He went to another classroom and found one of his trustworthy teachers sitting at her desk. She had a cup of water in her hand, picking at it with her finger. Her legs were crossed, so that her beige skirt tightened around her. When she heard Berwald enter, she perked her head up. Her delicate brown curls came bouncing as she did.

Berwald briefly explained the dilemma and took her to the room. The boy squinted at her. She told Berwald to go home. He did, nodding stiffly and turning away.

He went into the rain again. Now it was coming down with twice the intensity. Rainwater flooded the streets and flowed like a river. He went splashing through, going across the field to his house. The dirt turned to mud and the flower wilted under the pressure. At the same time the grass brightened with a new, fresh wave of green.

There was someone at his front door. He went over and saw that it was Tino. He wasn't surprised. It was as though a part of him knew this would happen.

Tino's hair stuck to his face and his eyes were bright and lively, no sign of fatigue or sickness Berwald had suspected. Tino had his arms crossed; trying to warm up after how the rain had drenched him to the bone. Berwald took him in and, just like he did with the boy, and wrapped him a towel, setting him on the leather couch.

"I'm sorry for not being there. I had some business to take care of." Tino said softly, drinking the hot chocolate. They sat there for some time like that. They decided it would be their third date. Tino, when the rain had lifted, thanked him for all he did. He went to kiss Berwald's cheek, but Berwald turned and pressed his lips to Tino. Why he didn't he couldn't say. It felt right. It felt natural.

Tino left, this time leaving an address and a means of communication. They continued to date all through high school and even when the broke off onto separate paths for colleges they remained in contact. Once Tino, who stayed longer, finished school, they got married and settled down.

Remembering all this brought a pale cast of peace over Berwald's mind. He didn't mind telling Tino about it, now. When he returned home, parking and coming in with the heavy box, Tino took one glance at him from his position in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, and nodded to indicate he understood what had happened. Tino still had a freshly-woken look on his face. He must have woken up not long after Berwald had left. Berwald then went into his office, putting the box away, and up to his room to change. When he came down he passed Peter's bathroom. The door was open, to let in light and conserve on light. Berwald had been gone for just over an hour and a half. Peter was an early bird anyway, Berwald thought with pleasure.

Peter stopped brushing his teeth and dropped to his heels. He had been on his toes to see in the glass, not having wanted a stepping stool beneath him. Toothpaste foamed at his lips and his eyes were wide and curious. His pajamas were blue and decorated with sea shells and starfish. Tino insisted on buying the designed pajamas. His philosophy dictated that kids needed some sort of spark of color in their lives.

"Good morning, Peter. Come down to breakfast, I'll explain." Berwald said, and went back downstairs. His philosophy dictated that kids shouldn't be left in the dark on important matters like some sort of ignorant beast.

Down in the kitchen, Berwald went up behind Tino and wrapped his arms around the thin waist. The waist was perfect for a dress. Berwald had only once seen Tino in a dress. Tino tucked a bit of hair behind his ear, a perfectly shaped, small ear. Berwald kissed Tino's head. Tino picked up the pan and slid the pancake onto a plate, where a mound awaited.

"You don't have to worry about a job, not yet." Tino said. "My job can provide for us both for a while. I still have some funds from my parents. They weren't all bad, you know. And you have some money. And we even have some relatives that could lend a hand if we're in desperate need of it. So don't worry. Besides, you need the time off. And you can stay home to do all the housework and cleaning, take Peter to school, go to events, you know." Tino turned around and gave Berwald a bright, sympathetic smile. He meant it all, and Berwald could see it was true. He'd look for a job, but there was no real rush, he decided. Not for now, at least.

During breakfast, Berwald explained the situation as simply and straightforwardly as he could. Peter took it all again, again without word, and again with only that distant expression.

Just as Tino had seen right through Berwald's false pretenses to read and hide his turmoil, Tino could see what Peter felt. It must have been a sixth sense or something.

"Peter, don't worry. It's not your fault. You will never be abandoned again. Never. We'll always, always be with you. We promised to make the best of it. Now, I'll swear on my life that I will never leave you. That neither of us will," Tino said as he crosses his heart with his forefinger.

Peter nodded and ate his breakfast, casting casual, but scared glances at Berwald. Berwald returned these with an encouraging and promising smile. Peter eventually was comforted, but he still held it firmly in his mind that it was his fault.

Berwald looked across the table at Tino, where he sat eating contently.

"We should go somewhere today," Tino said.

"That sounds like a good plan. It's a nice day out. Where do you want to go?" Berwald asked.

Peter shrugged. "It doesn't matter with me," he mumbled. All of his actions seemed subdued. Berwald didn't have Tino's special ability to see right through people, but he had a sort of sense to know when something was hidden, crouching out of sight. Peter had a more obstreperous personality than this, for sure, but something—something besides the juggling between families and the abandonment of parents—that had caused this change in him. Berwald resolved to find it, even if it was slowly, but he would find it nonetheless.

"How about the aquarium!" Tino said.

"I'd love that." Berwald said.

Peter agreed.

Another glance at Tino and Berwald felt again that burning, fierce love boil up in his heart. What he would do without Tino he didn't know. He'd be lost, that's for sure.

 


	4. His World

**Interim + What Happened In Between**

**His World**

Peter's world was in England a tiny place. During travel it expanded, and then, upon reaching his final destination in Berwald's comely home, constricted once again to a small area. He acknowledged that the rest of the world existed, as his books dictated, but it never felt very real. The seas and deserts and arctic were places out of his reach, and therefore out of his mind's world. He was completely content with this.

When he woke in the mornings he would stretch, looking around the room to check that it was there—this had become a habit—and then slowly make his way out of bed to the bathroom. He'd brush his teeth and complete his morning routine, dress and all, before going downstairs to eat. After this his day would play out with adventures through the town or through his house, and then another meal, adventures continue, and finally dinner before bedtime. Sometimes Tino or Berwald read to him. Tino usually was absent, having been forced to take overtime at work to scrape up some more money.

Peter heard them argue this once. Berwald and Tino seldom argued and this couldn't have been called a true "argument". No one yelled, no one threatened anything. Berwald and Tino debated calmly, but hot tears sprung to Tino's eyes that hurt both Berwald and Tino at once. When they did get into a more heated debate, their voices would drop a hundred degrees and turn so chilling Peter wished they had yelled. Arthur and his aunt often yelled. Those memories stuck out like jagged spikes in his mind and he could do nothing but watch. If he dared touch or repress them he would cut himself on their sharp edges.

"No, you can't work yourself too hard!" Berwald said, his voice rising for the first time.

"I will do what I want," Tino responding minutely, "I want to do this."

Then they discussed some other topics in vague notions. Peter understood none of it and so he crept back upstairs, hoping he hadn't been seen.

For the most part, Peter had a copious amount of autonomy. He was allowed to do what he pleased, as long as it did not harm him or anyone around him. At the same time Berwald and Tino held their thumbs firmly against him. If he fell and scraped his knee while flying a kite in the final winds of summer, they'd rush over at once and bandage him up, cooing in the meantime.

Peter during one of these outings, a week before school would start, was under the careful eye of Berwald. Berwald sat on the bench, watching how Peter rushing to catch a breeze and send his triangular, blue kite soaring. He laughed, the sound escaping him like a rush of birds from a cage. Berwald grinned and clapped, elated to find that Peter had refined that skill in such a short time. Now, without work to worry about, Berwald stuck around Peter and decided to teach all those "fatherly" skills he deemed noteworthy. One of these skills was camping. The summer refused to last long enough for that, though, so Berwald decided to plan it for the following summer.

Upon hearing this, Peter grinned wildly. He imagined all those stories of exciting camping trips, the fresh air of the mountains, the rush of a natural spring, and the smoky smell of a campfire that brought nostalgia from a distant dream he didn't necessarily dream himself.

Peter planned it over and over with Berwald, revising things and changing others. They planned to go at the end of June. The week before they would pack all the necessary equipment, which they wrote down on a leaf of note book paper. Afterwards they would hike the mountains, cruise the river, and try fishing. They had a thousand other ideas while making it and decided that whatever happens will happen in due course.

When Tino came home that night, exhausted, they presented the ideas to him. He regarded them carefully. He was not much in favor of camping. He didn't despise the act, but he thought Berwald would be better off going alone with Peter. The two others insisted that he join and he was given no other say in the matter.

"Alright, I'll go," he said. Thus, it was decided.

It did not dawn on Peter that he would be going to school for the first time in his life. Not until he had actually entered the convenience store with Berwald did the gravity of the situation begin to pull him in. He picked out the supplies, wondering what was best for this new, strange place he would be heading. Berwald did not know that prior to this Peter had always been homeschooled, or not taught at all. He assumed since the boy could read so well and proficiently do his sums, that he had been thoroughly educated. And that his curiosity and awe was simply at being in a completely new place to do this. He made no comment and Peter never corrected him.

At home that day, awaiting nightfall so the next day with a new life would come quicker; Peter unzipped his shiny, new backpack and began to set his new supplies inside. He didn't need very many, considering his low grade, but he had a very distinct feeling in his mind that he would not be like the other students.

When he finished ripping the plastic binging away from the safety scissors and methodically placing them in a little pocket along the inside of the sack, Tino entered his room. Tino had not long since come home. He had changed into a pair of comfortable pajamas. He sat down on Peter's bed, looking at carpet where all the pieces of plastic and bags were cast.

"Are you excited?" Tino asked.

Peter nodded curtly, picking up a glue stick and deciding where to put it.

"I'm glad. It'll go well. You'll have new friends before you know it."

Peter nodded again.

"Alright, I'll leave you to it." Tino said and walked over, bending over and kissing Peter's forehead before rumpling his hair. Peter heard his quiet, almost feline footsteps tread the stairs and drop down to the hard wood floor below. The TV clicked on and he began to talk in that subdued voice to Berwald. They talked about meaningless, airy things that did not provide for the mind, but did not weigh upon the heart.

The next day at school flit by quickly. The teachers welcomed them all in. Peter was shy in greeting and avoided contact with the students. He set away his things and prepared his desk as usual. Just like his premonition suggested, none of the students even remotely resembled him. His strange upbringing caused a shift in not only his maturity but his intelligence. The bright students of the class regarded him with either envy or curiosity. When the teacher called on him and he gave a remarkably accurate and stunningly in depth answer, she decided that perhaps this was not the place for him. He remained in the class, giving daily installments of his adventures there to his parents, all the way until the end of the week. At the last class of the day, the teacher called him over while other students filled out coloring sheets with addition problems on them. Peter looked at her in fear. He was used to this. He was used to adults calling him over in hushed whispers with another bout of bad news. He prepared himself for the worse, tensing up and watching her with wide, fearful eyes.

Her news was not at all bad. She asked him if the class was too easy.

"Yes, Miss," he replied honestly, still tense.

"Then I think we should move you up a grade."

Peter, having not made any friends with the children felt nothing holding him back. He would be going from a group of strangers to another group of slightly more intelligent strangers. He was still in primary school so nothing in retrospect actually would change. He would only receive a more intensive training until he reached secondary school, where his age difference would become more marked and his intelligence would either make or break him. That was what he would later understand. For the time being he grasped the concept that things will now fit his level more and he would, hopefully, be more complacent with his surroundings.

His parents received notification of this, along with another surprising bit of news. In four month's time their family would expand even further.


	5. The Guest

**CHILD BORN UNDER FALSE PRETENSES**

**_The Strange Story of How a Boy Is Born to a Family With a Convoluted Past…_ **

_[Published: November 13, 19xx]_

_Written by Elian Sxxx_

_Earlier this year, at the beginning of spring, a young boy was adopted. This joyous occasion brought great happiness to his new parents. The story of how he came to live in these new circumstances, however, has now been brought to life._

_Just outside of London, England a woman named Alice Xxxx was found dead. She had died while inside her bathtub. She was the aunt of the young boy who was adopted. She lived in a large, old house that has been notorious for hosting a great number of important people. None of which make the history books today, but all in their time held notable parties and once even hosted a ball. The ballroom at the time of death was clean, but long since unused. The maids took to tending it every so often. One of these maids was doing just so before she heard a short scream coming upstairs. She was hesitant to enter her mistress's chamber, but she worried for the middle aged woman's life. She scurried up the stairs, passing the young boy who could not have been more than three years old, and went into the bathroom. The door stood ajar and traces of blood covered the floors. The woman, not yet fully undressed, had her head dunked in the bathtub. She had apparently drowned. The scream came from another maid. The other maid was preparing the bath for her mistress. They alerted the press at once._

_As to the woman's death, everyone is uncertain of why, or how. Some believe that she had drowned herself, but the woman showed no signs of suicide or self-harm. If there had been a murder, then certainly someone would have to have come in and left in a span of five minutes or less. Since then the presses have concluded that she died by slipping and hitting her head against the hard tiles._

_This is not the only strange occurrence plaguing the boy's life. He had been tossed around often, due to epilepsy and his weak body. Most of his relatives did not want him at home, fearing for their money or their own children's safety. We interviewed one of his cousins [age 25] on the matter; "He's a very sweet boy," she says, "but I simply cannot worry about him at this time. The little baby of mine couldn't possibly be kept as well as the sickly boy with our little pay. I do hope he comes into caring hands sooner or later."_

_True, the boy does come into caring hands eventually, but not before ending up at a stranger's house for a brief period of time. There is little information on this time. One of his relatives refuses to release any information of this time. He had held onto the boy for a week before putting him up for adoption, obviously showing that he did care for the boy somewhat. The woman he stayed with was rumored to have once been an oracle, among other professions of this sort, before settling down on a pension and taking the boy in. The boy had seizures nearly every day in her care, to the point that she could not longer care for him. She gave him up. We have been informed that the boy has not had a seizure since leaving her care. This is believed to be due to a lack of medication in her home. The boy went to primary school for a month in her care, as well, but was duly withdrawn after having a severe attack during class._

* * *

**3.**

**Marked Tragedies**

_X_

**A Rainy Night**

_X_

**The Guest Arrives**

Berwald set the newspaper back into its box. It gave him an unsettled feeling. Everything matched up with Peter's story, from the strange aunt to the relative, Arthur, who had taken him into his care. The problem was that this article was written before Peter, or even Berwald, had been born. Berwald considered it a strange coincidence and rifled through the rest of the box's contents.

Ever since Peter started school two months ago, in September (this made the date on the newspaper parallel to that day, except for the year), Berwald had been stuck doing housework during the day. He cleaned the house from top to bottom each day, prepared himself a meal, and then dinner for the family, and occasionally browsed for a job online or on a newspaper. For some reason none of the jobs he searched for suited his tastes. They all felt flat. Since he had lost the monotone cubicle job, he didn't feel like going back to it. As a student fresh out of college he had been up for any job, even cleaning public restrooms. Now, however, he wanted something more. Until then he would settle with the housework and cooking.

There was only a certain amount of times one can clean his house reasonably. Berwald had exceeded that limit. But there was one part of the house he never cleaned. This happened to be the back of his and Tino's closet. The front was all the clothing they needed during the day. When it was time to push those articles back and bring forth the pieces for the upcoming season, Tino went in and tidied it up. In the back of the closet, inside a little nook, sat the box that held the newspaper Berwald just read. It was his mother's final gift to him, a collection of objects she thought Berwald needed. Laying eyes on the box brought Berwald a sense of sorrow, like a typhoon attacking and drowning him. Tino understood it and took the job without comment. Tino now came home exhausted and lethargic, so the back room was left untouched. Berwald on that autumnal day decided to clean it out before the new guest arrived.

In doing so he came across the box. Again the tidal wave built up, coming closer and closer, but he did not let it attack him, mostly because his attention had been diverted. The headline of the article stuck out like it wanted to be seen and captured him. His sadness momentarily drifted to the back of his mind.

His mother died the same day he met Tino in the library. The event, abrupt and without warning, consumed all of Berwald's thought. It clouded his eyes, attracting Tino to him in the first place. His mother had not been feeling sick, but two days before her death she had quit her job and resigned to her ultimate end. She spent the final two days speaking in soft, sad tones to her family and putting together the box for Berwald. She did not give anyone else a gift, except for a parting word with her husband.

Her change in attitude roused their curiosities, but they thought she had fallen into a depression and decided to take her to the hospital. She flatly refused. The day of her death she constantly looked at the clock, as if expecting a visitor. Early that day she called Berwald, who had been studying, to come over. There, in the dimly lit living room buried in silence, she handed him the box. He thanked her and took it without another thought, his mind still off and busied with his studies. He tucked the box away and did not look at it. In an hour, they discovered her dead on the floor; head down and covered in a mass of flaxen hair. Another hour later Berwald could not handle it, his emotions fiercely biting into his heart. Afterwards he got tangled up with love and sorrow, not telling Tino about her death until their fourth date at a museum. He gave him his sincerest sympathy, and they left it at that.

What struck Berwald as strange was her behavior. She was not a person to do such things. She never displayed peculiar habits or abilities. In fact, prior to those two days, she had been an average, bordering dull person. She was gentle and caring, too, but never showed even the smallest sign of being different. Then in those two days her personality took a sudden shift. Berwald had not thought into it much.

There, sitting at the kitchen table with the box and a cup of coffee, he began to wonder about it. Hot tears sprung to his eyes when he thought of her, the position she lay post mortem, and the softness of her voice. She had resigned to die, perhaps. Or some ethereal power whispered it in her ear one night. It pained him to think about it. Berwald took a sip of coffee and examined the rest of the contents.

Aside from the newspaper, there was nothing particularly obtrusive about the objects. There was a thin photo album of him as a child, a picture of his mother, tall, fair, and reserved, a picture Berwald drew for his mother, a necklace of hers, and a bottle of perfume. The assortment only baffled Berwald more. Some things were easily explainable, such as the photos and the drawing. But others seemed as though she had tossed them in at random.

What's more, why had she given him a newspaper article? It was dated from when she was a little girl. Maybe she found it with her father's belongings. He had passed away in a war when she was a teenager. Berwald supposed that it was a link between the two and she wanted it passed down. But why a newspaper? And why did it connect so well to his story?

Too many questions flooded his brain. How was it that Arthur just happened to call him in the middle of the night with the one thing he wanted? Why had he held off adoption until then? Why did he just happen to lose his job on the same day?  _Why was the newspaper dated as the same day he would finally read it?_

Berwald downed his coffee and put the cup in the sink. He returned the box to its place upstairs and decided to busy himself again. He went outside and cleaned the gutters, fixed the backyard, and put away the cushions before they would be soaked by rain. Ominous clouds hung in the sky, pregnant with rain. The guest would arrive the next day. Hopefully he wouldn't come to see the world dreary, the sky greasy with clouds, and an overall damp atmosphere. Berwald doubted he would care much, but it was something to change the course of his thoughts away from his mother.

He finished his chores by the time Tino came home, having picked up Peter. Peter started to prattle on about the science lab they did in school. Berwald tried to listen, but his mind constantly drifted away somewhere distant where thoughts and questions did not exist.

As they ate dinner, Tino cleared his throat to bring attention to himself. There was no real need. Peter had tapered off his monologue of his school day when he realized Berwald wasn't listening, and Berwald continued to lose himself within his mind.

"As you know tomorrow we'll have a guest," Tino began in a professional manner, "His name is Emil. I want you both to know some things about him first. He's a cousin of mine, distant, actually, but that's beyond the point. He has nowhere to go but here. He's sixteen, and he'll stay for a year here. After that he already has a college plan and will leave. Please don't insist on him staying. It will be a fruitless chase. The reason he's here is because his parents both got into a car crash." He lowered his eyes solemnly. Taking a deep breath, he continued; "After that he lived with his older brother for some time. The brother is a college drop-out, twenty-one years old, and he can't support Emil. He begged us to take him in. He didn't need to beg, we understand. No one else could or would take the boy in, so that leaves it to us. What I want you to promise me is this: please be nice and gentle with him. He'll open up eventually, I promise, but he's suffered tragedy after tragedy. Don't ask him anything about it. If he wants to tell you something, please listen. Do we have a deal?"

Peter agreed. Berwald did too in an offhanded manner. Tino made note to ask him about his behavior later. They finished dinner with Tino's words hanging in the air. Peter understood all of it, but it felt distant somehow. Though the two were similar, and he supposed they could get along despite the age difference; his story seemed so unconnected with the rest of the world. An accident you see on the news happening in some other country. It's too far away to really feel empathy, but at the same time you understand how tragic it must have been. Peter didn't like thinking about this and finished his meal in silence, excusing himself and leaving to read before bed.

That night, Tino snuggled up to Berwald. Berwald looked at him and kissed his forehead in response, casting his arm over Tino's small, warm shoulders and pulling him close.

The room was dark. An alarm clock next to Tino's glasses glowed blue, giving a strange extraterrestrial light. No stars were seen overhead and the moon was entirely blocked out by the clouds. Rain fell down in fine shards, like broken gems. They clicked when they hit the windows and walls, shattering and falling to moisten the ground below. Its sweet scent slipped into the house, like smoke through cracks, and comforted those inside.

Berwald looked at Tino in the bluish light. His hair fell over his face, but his eyes shone through, clever and compassionate. His lips were not smiling, but rather pulled into a deeply concerned frown. He raised his hand and pressed it to Berwald's stiff jaw, rubbing Berwald's cheek with his smooth thumb.

"Are you alright?" he whispered.

Berwald pulled him closer, giving no reply.

"You can tell me. I only want to help you," Tino continued to whisper, lowering his eyelids. His eyelashes hid his eyes.

Berwald, in whispers, told him what he found.

Tino listened without a question, closing his eyes. His breathing evened out. But Berwald continued to speak. He knew that Tino was still listening.

Once, the first time they slept together in high school, Berwald began to tell Tino about his day. They had not seen each other until late that night, when Tino had come over in the middle of the night without explanation, with knowing, wanting eyes. There, in the darkness soothed by starlight, Berwald started speaking to him, their hearts still racing. Tino shut his eyes and Berwald thought he had fallen asleep. He stopped speaking.

Tino's eyes fluttered open. "No, go on."

He did just the same this rainy night, opening his eyes when Berwald began to expel all those questions that had accumulated within him. Berwald said, "This all can't be a coincidence," and stopped. Tino's eyes fluttered open, "No, I'm still listening."

"I know," Berwald said, burying his face in Tino's hair. "I just don't know what else to say."

Tino slid his hand down Berwald's jaw, neck, and rested on the tight, bare skin of his back. Despite the rainy weather, it was still insufferably hot in the house.

"Why did you do it? You could have let me clean it." Tino said. "I was planning to. It doesn't take that much time. Besides, I might forget how to keep a house clean at this rate." He chuckled. The sound evaporated the moment it reached Berwald's ears.

Berwald sighed. "I don't know. I really don't know. I thought I had the courage to confront it, but I guess I don't. I just ran into more troubles and more questions."

Tino sighed, too. He pressed a kiss to Berwald's jaw. His soft, round lips igniting a flurry of heat in Berwald's heart.

"Tino…"

* * *

The next day, a Saturday, the new guest arrived. Peter lounged in the living room, holding a book. The doorbell rang and he jumped up. Before he could reach the door, Tino opened it first. He brushed hair away from his face, tugging his white shirt out of jeans and putting on a polite smile. He pulled the door open.

Standing there was the guest and behind him stood a woman with a clipboard. Neither was particularly endowed with great height. The woman stepped forwards and shook Tino's hand, talking in a clipped, marked tone and asking a bundle of questions that Tino followed and replied to flawlessly. She wore a beige suite, her skirt and jacket without wrinkles and wrapped around her curved body tightly. Her hair, blonde and curled, reached her shoulders, hiding bright blue earrings. She seemed to be allergic to imperfection.

The guest, a boy of sixteen, entered the house. He shuffled his feet uncertainly. His outfit, normal for boys his age, stuck out next to the woman's impeccable appearance. He wore a baggy shirt with some jagged words printed across the top. He had unusually large hips for a boy, which made finding pants nearly impossible. He did wear jeans, torn in several areas, and bound to his waist by a black belt. He held a duffel bag in his hand and scratched his neck, adjusting the light jacket he wore constantly. His eyes flitted from Peter to Tino, then back at his feet.

Finally the discussion finished and the woman left with a false smile. Tino welcomed the boy, Emil, in.

"Hi," Emil greeted Peter gruffly.

"Hello," Peter said.

The boy's eyes were withdrawn and bruised with exhaustion. He seemed like he would pass out at any moment. His irises were a shade of purple, tinted with green. Where he would sleep remained uncertain.

"We have an air mattress. I know you're tired. Sit down at the table and eat something while I get it ready," Tino said quickly, taking Emil's bag and going quickly down the corridor. Emil nodded and slowly went to the kitchen, sitting down heavily and picking up a few crackers, eating them mechanically.

Peter trotted up to him. "Hello," he said, "I'm Peter."

Emil tried to smile, but could hardly do so. "Hello, Peter."

"You're Emil, right?"

"Yeah."

"You must have had a really long flight."

"It wasn't that long, actually."

"Then why are you so tired?"

"I haven't slept in a while. I was at an office for hours filling out paperwork for college and all, and then I was in an airport for longer. I was too nervous to sleep. But I'm glad to be here now."

Peter nodded. The door opened again and Berwald walked in. He had promised to be back from the store before Emil arrived, but he left that promise unfulfilled. Panting, he leaned against the door and kicked off his shoes. He held a bag of groceries and went into the kitchen, setting them down and greeting Emil. The store was in walking distance. By the time he reached home he must have seen the woman's car pull away and decided to sprint the final leg of the way.

"Where's Tino?" he asked.

"Finding a bed for Emil," Peter responded, grabbing a chair and hopping on it.

Berwald nodded and went after Tino. Tino wasn't one to get angry and yell, but this was a promise—something he was especially touchy about.

"Do you like it here?" Peter asked, placing his elbows on the table and picking at his lower lip.

Emil shrugged. "I can't tell. I haven't been here long enough."

"Oh, okay."

Tino called Emil over. The boy raised himself from the chair and went to the room, the office. The air mattress had been set up and covered in blankets. He undressed and, in his underwear, plopped down on the bed and was asleep in moments. Tino dimmed the lights and pulled the curtains around him. He had spent so long preparing for Emil's arrival, setting him up in the local high school, mentally preparing himself and his family, and taking the liberty to find out what his favorite foods were. And yet he completely forgot about where to put Emil.

He went back to the kitchen were Peter snacked on slices of cheese.

"Peter…?" Tino asked timidly.

"Maybe Emil should stay in my room." Peter said.

Tino paused, jaw dropping. This was exactly what he wanted to ask Peter about. Stunned, he tried to speak. "I—oh, yes, that would be very nice. He won't sleep on your bed. He'll be on the mattress. Are you sure you don't mind?"

"No. It'll be like having a big brother!" Peter said, already his mind cranking out all different sorts of fun he could have with his new "brother".

"I… I'm sorry," Berwald said as he entered the room, looking at the two. After a brief interval he focused on Peter. "I don't think the camping trip can work out this year."

Tino raised his eyebrows. Peter bit his lip, trying not to cry.

"What?" Tino said, flushing crimson. Peter bowed his head, resigning to it, but reluctantly. Each little, sharp breath Peter took in stabbed Tino's heart like a knife. "No, Berwald, you can't. You of all people to say this thing! How come we can't go? We can take Emil along. He isn't a lame dog who can't fend for himself. If he doesn't want to go he can very well stay at home. He won't go through our things and rob them. He has nowhere to go! I know you probably don't trust him, but he really is a good boy."

Tino stopped when he saw Berwald shake his head slowly.

"No, that's not it. I'd love to have Emil along. It's something different… Please, come here." Berwald said, gesturing for Tino to follow.

Tino curled his fingers into a fist and followed Berwald to their room.

Peter, his heart racing, could not hear what they were talking about. He heard their voices whisper rapidly, and then abruptly stop. Peter stood up and tip-toed over to their room. He leaned against the doorway, trying not to be seen. He caught their reflection in the small mirror on their dresser.

Tino sat on the bed, his face covered with his hands. His shoulders shook in hoarse sobs. Berwald had his arms around Tino and he kept kissing his head and apologizing. Tino tried not to wail or sob too loudly. Heavy tears rolled down his cheeks and fingers. Peter dedicated each tear's shape and size to memory.

For some incomprehensible reason he was afraid to forget them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention that this story was originally on another site. It received some good feedback so I decided to put it here as well. I apologize for any strange formatting.   
> I hope you enjoy!


	6. Dear Peter

**4.**

**Dear Peter**

_Dear Peter,_

_I doubt you recognize this handwriting. Why, when I saw you last, you had trouble keeping your eyes open! Oh how I recall your darling head resting against my breast and your tiny, warm heart pulsing to supply rich blood to your minute body. It does not good, I suppose, to begin my letter by reminiscing of days so long gone by that they are but dreams in my mind._

_How do I begin? My dearest son Peter, you must hate me now. As said before, I doubt you can bring to your fore memory my face, my horrid, wretched face, but you must hate me all the same. I left you when you were but a babe. But your father was very good to you. He took you once you had weaned and, since he understood that you could not live among us, sent you away to live somewhere far, far away. I have not seen you since then, my dear, but I hope you're happy. Please understand that it was not my choice to have you leave. But I was a bad parent and we had no money. I'm afraid you're an illegitimate child born of a confused night. Your father could not support you and he was angry with me. He never hit me. I knew he wanted to. Even if I hit him so many times, covered him with bruises, and cut him to ribbons at one point he never raised so much as a finger. He took it all sitting down, head bowed. I regret all this, of course._

_I know right now you're eight years old. You're almost nine, aren't you? Don't think I have forgotten your birthday. I remember the day you were born with such clarity. I was alone with only my sister and you came crying into the world… But you're still too young to understand all that I want to tell you. I guess I'll leave a note for your new parents to give you this letter only when you had reached an age of maturity. I don't know where you are, true, but your father has connections and he can get this letter to you easily._

_I have only this one chance to explain everything to you. Your father insisted I send one letter. I want to send one every day, but he said that if I send too many and they all accumulated then you'd find them and think you're hostage or something when I just want to protect you._

_Oh look at me ramble! No wonder I could not handle you. I tried, I promise. But sometimes you would not stop crying in those months I nursed you that I was tempted to throw you against the floor and step upon your open mouth and crimson face. I never did, as you know, but even feeling that all makes me sick. It's a scar in my memory, a blemish on my personality, that I can never erase and will always haunt me._

_When you had your first seizure, still hardly a year old, I nearly died of fright. You stopped moving and began writhing, eyes rolled back, and your tiny fists balled and lashing out. I screamed and cried, waking all the neighbors at the delicate hour of the morning. Your father was there and he came to see me first. He saw this all and took us to the hospital, wasting what little money he had for gas, and then the doctor diagnosed you with epilepsy. It shattered his mind, your father, it made his brain hurt so bad…_

_I am telling this all out of order, I know. But I saw that clever gleam in your eye from the moment you exited the womb and I knew. I knew you would find a method to my madness, as the saying goes. All I ask of you is not to hate me anymore. I'm trying to explain._

_It's taken me several days to write this already—from this paragraph to the one before I had a break; which is what I get for trying to do this all in one sitting. I tried to sit down and focus but my mind wanders elsewhere. Are you like that? Can you not concentrate? I enjoy writing and reading and threading words together to make a beautiful fabric but it takes me such a mind numbingly long time. I tried to paint once. This was after I had you leave. When I came home I had no baby to tend to and had to focus my thoughts elsewhere. By this time I started making a little bit more money, just enough to buy two tubes of paint, a canvas, and a brush. Your father insisted that I buy more. Even after you left he still stayed by my side. What a noble man. He sometimes sees me now, but he has to go away for such long times afterwards… And with that canvas I began to paint. It took me nearly a year to get even half way. But it was nice. I had to explore and try and efface and try again. I liked how it made me leave my body and venture to the world of paint and imagined pictures. I tried to imagine memories that never happened. I imagined you, too. I imagined you a bit older when I could take you to your first day of school. I had no idea how you looked or how you acted, so you were like a blank sheet of paper of nice feelings. Then I pictured you in high school, then in college, then getting married, and then visiting me as I was frail and old. Will you do that? I hope by the time you read this you can still visit me as an old woman._

_Perhaps you won't._

_I don't really know…_

_This is my fourth day writing now. I took a long break again. I tried to collect my thoughts but words never came. When I put the pen down my hand goes in slow motion or does not move at all._

_I don't know what happened when you left me, exactly. I know relatives took you around. They were all on your father's side. I had no family at the time of which to go to. I was alienated and objected to shame. At any rate, what I learned from your father's installations each month or so, was that no one wanted you. Your aunt finally took you in and then perished herself, or something along those lines, and then you returned for a very brief time to your father, then another relative to take you over. I learned the final part not long ago. I learned that you now have a happy family to go to. I don't know who they are or what they do. I don't know if it one person or two or three, even. I think I gathered that you don't have a mother and that does not sadden me. For some devious reason it makes me writhe in joy. I know that no one will ever officially take your place as a mother._

_This letter is much shorter than I thought it would be. I expected to run out of pen before I was a third of the way through. But I don't have anything else to tell you._

_Best wishes, my dear_

_Love,_ [name omitted]

_P.S. – At one point I heard you liked to read. Your father read so much. It's no wonder. I will transcribe to you my favorite poem, dear. It's from someone I knew in my school days. She was an avid writer and loved to write. This was to me. I still remember it word for word. It's also where I got your name from_

Dear Peter

Close thine eyes

And allow

The precious roses

To fill you

With their scent

_I don't know what exactly she meant by this all or how it is supposed to be formatted. What a strange poem. But it meant something to me. Maybe it will mean something to you._


	7. Wings: Heart: Sleep

**5.**

**Wings**

X

**Heart**

X

**Sleep**

"I wish I could sprout wings and fly away from this all."

Peter looked up, wondering who had said that. Tino was still in the bedroom. The day was drawing to a close and Tino had finally stopped crying. Now he lay dormant, as if lost in some different world. Berwald lay with him, holding him tight, and trying to make him stop hurting. That left Emil who would be speaking. Peter got up, left his drawing on his miniature desk, and tip-toed out of the room to peer into the office. He pushed the door open. Orange evening light inundated the room, making it look like a nostalgic memory. Inside, on the bed, Emil still slept soundly. His arms were stretched out, pail fragile twigs, and his chest rose and fell. His mouth was twisted into a frown. Peter wondered if he was having a bad dream. Peter also wondered where that voice came from. It did not sound like anyone he knew. In fact, it sounded like a young woman.

Curious, he went back to his room and parted the curtains. Berwald had entered, when Tino wanted to be alone, and opened the window to let in some fresh air. Now the window was still open but the air remained stubbornly stagnant.

As he suspected, someone was standing outside. He wondered how he could hear what she had said. She stood so far away. Maybe her voice carried in the wind. Maybe he was supposed to hear her. He went back downstairs, near the back windows, and stood behind the curtains. Here he could make out what she was saying. She sat in her own backyard on a bench with someone else. From here he could barely see her curled black hair and her small shoulders. The other person, though he heard her, was not visible to him.

"…look," the curly-haired one was saying, "I don't mean to sound so superficial but I just really feel like that sometimes."

"Is that so?" the other one queried.

"Yeah," a pause, "I'll let you in on a little secret. Tomorrow I'm running away. Tomorrow night I'll have my bags all packed and then, since my parents will be at a dinner party and my little brother will be at a friend's house, I'll slip out and no one will ever notice a thing."

"I don't think you should."

"Let's go in."

The girl stood, her curls bouncing, and turned into the house. Peter huffed. He had missed all the juicy information. He supposed he'd never know then. So he returned to his room and continued drawing until the final dregs of light had been sucked away. Berwald asked if he wanted to eat and he said no. Peter readied himself for bed and then slipped under the covers. He dreamt of that curly haired girl, standing before him, and running very quickly. She moved so fast that she was gone before he could say anything. The dream at the time meant nothing for him. Only later did he regret not waiting that next night and catching up to the girl, telling her not to run away. She would be hit by a car that very night.

In the other room, not dreaming, but in the unknown county between sleep and wakefulness that no traveler can venture to by will; the traveler must find his way there by chance, Tino lay. His hand was clasped inside Berwald's. Berwald watched Tino and gently passed his fingers along the small forehead, brushing away the fine silky hairs from his eyes.

"Tino…" he whispered for the seventh time. Tino had been unresponsive to all the previous efforts. This time he nodded in response. "Tino, I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry. Don't you?"

Tino nodded again.

"I have no control over it. I should have told you earlier, I know."

"But you didn't," Tino said in a small voice.

"I just went to the doctor's yesterday. I was in no mood to tell you just before the guest arrived."

Tino gazed at him, his eyes shining in the dark, "Then you told me just as he arrived."

"It's better than later. The opportunity presented itself so I had no choice but to take it."

"I understand that. Forget my moaning and groaning. I'm just sad."

"I know you are, Tino," Berwald kissed Tino's temple. With the thin skin on his lips he could feel the vibrations from Tino's pulse.

"Is it the same thing your mother had?" Tino asked.

Berwald shrugged. "I think that's possible."

"How long do you have?"

"I don't know."

Tino shifted and placed his hand on Berwald's chest, on the left. He spread his fingers out on the bare skin. Even though it was late fall he still refused to sleep in a shirt until the snow fell. Tino pressed his palm down until he could feel Berwald's pulse. The heart pumping, its red exterior sinking in and then expanding as blood rocketed through the body. The heart so important, the heart so grand. The heart that people have been fascinated with ever since they could lay a hand on their breast and feel it contract like a bird inside a cage, singing until it can no longer do so. Blood shot through Berwald's veins and arteries and nourished his muscles and his brain. Tino then lowered his head so his forehead pressed into the indent between Berwald's collar bones. He closed his eyes. He could smell Berwald's scent: soap and his barely contained natural musk.

Berwald could not understand what Tino was doing but allowed him to. He had a feeling that Tino had pressed his ear against a wall and was listening to all the secrets the room on the other side had to share. He caught every whisper that bounced off of each wall and shook every nook and cranny. Berwald ran his fingers down Tino's head and placed his hand on Tino's small shoulder blade.

He thought back to the first time they shared such closeness. Then they were nearly the same size. Berwald was still a bit taller, but of roughly the same build. He didn't start to lift weights until college. He recalled how in the small hours of the night with his heart still racing he had held Tino close. At this point he could describe in perfect detail how Tino looked. It had been so long. Berwald felt as though he had forgotten how Tino looked. He must have surely changed.

Berwald spread his fingers out on Tino's back, touching the soft fabric of his shirt and pushing down so he could feel the flesh beneath. He felt the curves of Tino's shoulder blades just as before, the buttons of his spine, and the scar that ran along his right shoulder to the small of his back. It was faint and it was not until he saw it closely that he noticed its existence.

Time ticked by like this. The slow song of silence that counts off the seconds so thoroughly, as though it had cut it with a knife and thrown away the slice somewhere it can never be retrieved. Tino fell asleep. Berwald knew he was asleep because his breathing slowed and his hands relaxed. Berwald did not sleep for a long time.


	8. Her Robot

**6.**

**Her Robot**

X

**The Wind Has Directed Our Lives To A Different Route**

Tino pushed open the door to the office and peered in. Inside Emil had already woken. He sat on the air mattress in shorts and a light undershirt, looking through his belongings and organizing them. Tino walked in slowly, his blue pajama bottoms brushing against the carpet and alerting Emil to his arrival, whereas his feline steps could not.

"Good morning," Emil said, hardly looking up.

"Good morning, Emil. How did you sleep?" Tino looked around, his eyes tinged red but otherwise without a trace of his previous weeping.

"Well," Emil said and seized up once Tino's delicate fingers brushed his shoulder. Raising his face to Tino, he remembered that he did not have any sleeves.

Tino did not have any change of expression. His eyebrows elevated and his fingers rubbed against the tattoo on Emil's shoulder. "Aren't you a little young for this?" he asked flatly. Tino was neither impressed nor displeased. The tattoo depicted a tall figure, metallic arms swinging on hinges that stood out on either end and the fingers, made of coiled metal, were spread out as though trying to explain something. The robot's head was cylindrical, a strip of black film made up the eyes and an indent was the mouth. Whoever had penned the image seemed to be of remarkable talent. The robot had a series of numbers printed across its broad chest that thinned down like a cone into a base that sprouted two knobbed feet.

"I guess, but I haven't regretted it yet. I've had it for two years," Emil explained.

"Did your brother let you?"

"He was with me."

"I see. It must mean a lot to you."

Emil grinned. "Yeah, it's a picture from my favorite story."

Tino nodded and left the room. Emil watched his shadow slip beneath the door as he went down the hallway, his feat barely even brushing the floor.

* * *

Peter never did quite find out what made Tino cry so much and what caused Berwald to revert back to his stoic silence. For the next two months, as snow accumulated and the winter winds tore through the air, Peter focused on his schoolwork and Emil did as well. Emil's work was considerably more superfluous than Peter's, he felt, but work was work after all.

The parents remained, aside from their minute changes in personality, completely normal. They pretended that nothing had happened whatsoever, that there was no sudden shift. Peter by some means or other; perhaps because he was sick of bad news or perhaps he simply didn't want to know, never questioned it. Emil noticed a cold aura trailing beside Tino and an uncomfortable look permanently staining Berwald's face. The couple did not seem to have faced any issues with their romance. In fact they only seemed to grow closer. It was as though whatever had happened had pushed them together rather than pull them apart. Emil learned that something had chained because he could sense it, and Peter had told him that Tino cried for an unintelligible reason.

On the evening of a tremendous blizzard, Emil officially moved into Peter's room. The family had been too busy to arrange it earlier. In the room, Emil studied from his bent and torn notebook, tapping his pencil against his lips. Peter sat on his own bed, legs to the pillow and swinging occasionally. He held his head up in his palms and browsed through a children's magazine. Outside the wind howled and screamed like a maiden losing her head. Snow flurried down in fat chunks, slamming against the window and building up a fortress along the sides. The world outside, although moon- and starless, was bright. Lamp posts cut through the darkness and their light reflected off the white snow, drowning the world in gray light.

Emil shifted and tugged his sweatshirt around him more tightly. He put away his notebook and sat up on his bed, looking over to Peter. Peter, without looking up from his book, asked; "Do you like living with us?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I like it here." Emil said, pushing his fingers through his hair.

"That's good."

"Yeah,"

Peter flipped the magazine shut, placing his hands on either side of it. He pushed himself up and sat up, putting the magazine on the table he and Emil shared. He watched Emil for some time.

"When you came here I thought you could be my brother, maybe."

"I thought I could be your brother too," Emil said, pulling his legs under him.

"Don't you have a brother?"

"Yeah I do, but he's far away."

"Did you get along with him?"

"When we were little we got along well. He'd hug me and tell me stories. He did what our parents used to do. It made me comfortable. But then he got busier and things happened, so we stopped doing that."

Emil shut his eyes briefly, collecting his memories and bringing his brother's face to mind. His brother had a similar shape of head and body to him. His brother had flaxen hair and flat blue eyes. Those eyes provided no depth or any lack of depth. Looking into them confused Emil and he had no choice but to look away and focus on the pin in his brother's hair in the shape of a cross.

Peter patted his side.

"Maybe we could try being brothers." He said, almost shyly, "We can pretend."

"Thanks," Emil stood up and moved to Peter's bed. He sat down and leaned against the wall, next to Peter. He was conscious of the boy's physical being, suddenly. Emil had never been so close to Peter before. And now, next to the warm body so small and fragile; giving off that bit of heat that only children can give off, he felt different. "It was cold over there."

Peter smiled. Then his smile fell away and he leaned against Emil's bony arm and buried his face in the soft gray fabric. Emil seized up again, just like when Tino touched him. His heart raced and he felt sweat budding at his forehead. When it passed, pulling back like the tide, he slowly raised his arm and out it around Peter's small shoulders, collecting Peter into his arms. Peter's head rested on the side of his rib cage. Emil wondered if Peter could feel his heart pound. He didn't have that much flesh or bone or fat or anything to block the sound anyway.

It occurred to Emil that Peter was crying.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He asked, looking down. Peter's back trembled and his face was bathed in tears. His lower lip was curled in and being bitten by a row of pearly teeth. His fist was balled up by the side of his head. Emil was told that Peter was susceptible to seizures. When Peter lifted his hand to wipe his tears and began to speak Emil relaxed somewhat.

"I'm scared," Peter said. "I'm selfish too because I made you come here just so I could cry and hug someone."

"What are you scared of?" Emil rubbed Peter's back, "You can hug Tino and Berwald, can't you?"

"I'm scared of them." Peter muttered.

"Scared of them or for them?"

"I… both, I think."

"Why? Is it because of what happened the day I came here?"

"Yeah, a little bit. I'm scared to touch them because I feel like bad things will happen if I do that. I don't want Papa to hug me because I feel like he needs to be hugged instead and I'm too little to do that."

"You can't be too little to love and hug. At least, that's what I think. But then again I'm just a teenager and what I say, no matter how much merit I put into it or how I justify my reasoning, will be ignored like some trash." Emil said this mostly to himself, growing angrier with each word. He realized that he had made this situation about himself. That was the one thing that one never does when they want to console someone. He mended the situation quickly and pulled Peter into a tighter hug. Peter weighed next to nothing and he was easy to lift. "I'm sorry, I just got carried away."

"That's okay," Peter said into Emil's shoulder. He had not understood what Emil's tangent was about anyway. "I'm scared that something will happen to them."

"Nothing will happen to them. And even if something happens I'll be here for you. I promise I won't leave you," Emil said before he knew what he was saying. In spilling those words out he made a deal with not only Peter but with his very spirit. If he broke it he would never forgive himself. Bringing his hand to Peter's head he began to pet his hair and push it away from Peter's eyes. "I know I don't know you well, but you're my brother regardless."

"Can you tuck me in and tell me a story?" Peter asked, raising his puffy and sleepy eyes to Emil.

Emil nodded. He helped Peter slip under the covers and tightened them around him. Next he shut off the lights and lay down next to Peter, his hand over Peter's chest and his other hand resting on his own cheek. For a long moment they said nothing. They allowed the winter world outside to sing its symphony and the sounds of the TV downstairs humming something. Berwald was watching it alone. Tino was still at work.

"What story should I tell you?" Emil asked in the darkness.

"Your favorite one," Peter responded in a whisper.

Emil thought of his tattoo. He had read the story a vast multitude of times and each word had practically imprinted itself in his brain. It was one of many stories, but this was the only one he read in that particular collection. Someone at the library had suggested it and he picked it up and flipped to a random story and happened to stumble upon this one. Since then he recalled it fondly.

"How does science fiction sound to you?" Emil asked.

"I like that."

"Okay. This one is called  _Her Robot_. Joanna lived in a small town on a planet very far away from ours. Because it was so far it was ahead of us in time and was more advanced and intelligent. The world looked the same as ours, pretty much, with tall trees and pretty flowers. Joanna went to a school for girls called Robotics and Technicians United. It specialized in teaching girls how to build robots and machines."

"Why was it only for girls?" Peter asked. His eyes were shut. He must have picked this trick up from Tino. Emil started. Having thought that Peter was asleep, he had planned to tell his story uninterrupted.

"Oh… I don't really know. I think there was a school for boys and another co-ed school too, but I don't know for sure. I think the author just felt like it."

"Oh, okay."

"Where was I…? That's right: Joanna lived in a dorm alone. She was at the top of her class. Her classmates were jealous because they thought she was so smart. In fact she was told that so much that she didn't doubt it at all. At first she was shy of her intelligence but as time went on it went to her head. It's not that she bragged or anything, she simply knew it."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why was she so smart?"

"I guess she read a lot. Don't interrupt so much. If you ask a question I might be just about to tell you the answer anyway so it's kind of pointless? Do you understand?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," Peter frowned.

"Don't cry! I was just… No, I'm sorry!" Emil looked over, trying to scrutinize Peter's expression in the bluish dark.

"No, I said I was sorry. Go on."

Emil hesitated. Then he began, sighing, "She was a girl of average height with short, curly black hair. She wasn't very pretty but she was nowhere near ugly. I suppose you could conjecture that she didn't care for her appearance. One day she walked out on campus. The school had a nice campus with a lot of trees and a fountain. The fountain was a marble statue of a robed and hooded woman pouring water into the basin from a jug. They called her the 'Fountain Keeper'. By that fountain on that hot day, there was a Robot."

The way Emil said "Robot" made Peter think that the word began with a capital letter. It held some sort of importance.

"The Robot," Emil continued, "I have him on my arm. I'll show you in the morning if you want. Well, he was a tall Robot, one of the earlier models that just barely have sentience. It was old and rusty, but it seemed be thinking of something. Joanna thought this was strange and came up it. Normally Robots, unless they're the dingier sort of robots, don't enter campus often. This Robot seemed to have wandered out on its own.

"Joanna looked at it and asked what it was doing there. The Robot lifted its creaking head and exposed the number on its chest. Joanna recognized him at once, because she had studied his models often, and realized that he was the first ever Robot built with a contemplating device. That meant that it could wonder why it even existed.

"'I'm thinking,' the Robot responded. 'I was thinking about the world. I wonder why someone would make me this way.'

"'Why would you think of that?' Joanna asked. She was a no-nonsense sort of person and disliked the fact that the Robot was wasting time outside like this.

"The Robot made something that sounded like a sigh and explained; 'I am programmed to think of this.'

"Joanna shook her head. 'Why would people waste their time building a Robot that does nothing but think? We're here to build useful Robots that do the jobs that are too dangerous for humans. We build them to help us.'

"'Maybe they wanted to know that they can do it.' The Robot suggested.

"Joanna said: 'They proved it. Now, why didn't they destroy you? You're a waste of material.'

"To this the Robot had only one response. And it was this: 'If you cannot understand the pleasure of doing something because you want to and not because you have to, then how smart are you really?'" Emil finished his story. After the pause stretched on with no sign of him adding anything else, Peter turned to look at him.

"I don't understand it." He said.

"Maybe you're too young. Or maybe it has nothing to understand," Emil contemplated.

"But I think that the point of it was that even the things that seem unimportant are actually important." Peter said and shut his eyes again, yawning. "I'm really sleepy. Good night."

"Good night," Emil said and slowly crept off the bed and returned to his own. Laying there, he felt much colder.

* * *

The winter trod by slowly. Peter celebrated his ninth birthday with several friends from school, Emil, and his parents inside their home. The beginning of Spring began to set in. Clouds parted in the sky to reveal more and more clear blue. Newborn leaves hung on trees and flowers woke up from their slumber beneath the soil. Soon summer would come. There was no camping trip to be had.

This made Peter very sad, of course, but he was promised one as soon as possible.

During this time Berwald got sick. His head hurt tremendously, as if someone had generously applied a hammer to his skull. He found himself bedridden. It was not a problem, since he was still out of a job besides a part time one at the local butchery. He had to quit it, folding away the money he earned and setting it away in his savings.

When Berwald couldn't move and was forced to stick to his bedside, moaning occasionally and shutting his eyes to heat flashes, he began to think of Peter and Emil and Tino. He despised the idea of leaving them behind. But what would happen if death really did strike its fist on him in the end? What would happen if that final bout of brain illness would crop up more quickly than the doctor predicted? Would Tino be able to tend to the two? Emil would be out of the house soon and by that time Peter would be about eleven or so years old.

"What a selfish thing it is of me to die," Berwald said.

But the doctor didn't agree. The doctor was certain that Berwald would pull through. He advised against the camping trip since it required exertion and could tire him out while he should rest.

"You don't have a job, you have a comfortable family, and on top of that you're a healthy guy!" The doctor had said at his last appointment, "I would expect some headaches, maybe some nausea, but overall I have high hopes for you. That doesn't mean that you'll outlive the disease. I'm sorry but it'll come and get you sooner than you want it to. But I have high hopes for you living another twenty, maybe even thirty years. I wouldn't worry about it."

With these words and the constant visits from this family, Berwald felt comforted. And before midsummer had time to dawn, his head aches cleared and the doctor said that his symptoms were pulling back.

Berwald felt like a brand new man.

If only tragedy didn't know how to travel by a different path.

At the end of summer the course of their lives branched off violently towards a new path.


	9. Reset

**7.**

**Brain Damage**

X

**Waiting for Trains**

X

**Reset**

A gunshot woke Tino. He shot up, clutching his ears and screwing his eyes shut tight. The gunshot was so loud it felt as though someone had fired it right beside his ear. He trembled in fear, hardly daring to make a single sound. Once he could raise his hands from his ears and the last echo of the shot died, he patted his body to check for a wound. He found none. Not a single inch of his body had blood or a bruise or anything of the sort blemishing it. Terrified still, Tino reached to his side to touch Berwald. His hand touched empty air. With his eyes still shut in fear, he reached for the other side, thinking that he had accidentally slept on the wrong side of the bed, and again met empty air. He touched the fabric before him and found soft bed sheets covering his body and an even softer cotton blanket on top of it all.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. An alien blue light glowed in the corner and a monitor beeped at intervals matching his heart rate. He looked around and saw curtains hanging before large square windows. It occurred to him that he was in a hospital.

Gasping for breath after his shock, he touched his chin and his neck and pushed the covers away. His legs were bandaged at the calves and the exposed parts beneath the night gown were blue and purple from tender bruises. His bones were bumpy and pain flowed in and out of them. When he touched the skin it stung. He lay back down, his head meeting with a firm pillow. Once his body relaxed again, he tried to think of how he got here. In a rush similar to nausea the memories inundated his mind. He saw the road unfolding before him, the car wobbling dangerously before him, and the sudden pressure so intense it sent his head rocking forward and striking the steering wheel. After that everything was dark. Peter was in the back.

Tino touched his forehead and found a small bandage on it. He didn't feel concussed.

Peter was in the back.

He felt the rest of his face like a blind man trying to "see" a stranger. A scar trailed from his lip to his eyebrow. He wondered how he didn't notice it when he was patting himself down for a bullet wound. He then wondered where Berwald was.

Peter had been in the back. He had been driving Peter to school.

_So where was Peter now?_

Tino sat back up, eyes wide and heart thundering in his chest. "Peter?" he said, looking around. Was Peter dead? He hoped against it. He hoped Peter was in the bed next to his. Albeit that was unreasonable, since Peter would have to be in the kid's section of the hospital, right?

"Peter?" he called again, a little louder. Behind the curtain to his left someone groaned and mumbled for him to stop. It sounded like an elderly man.

There was no option but to wait. He knew that if he stood up now the alarm would send a message to the nurses and they would rush in to keep him from falling. On that note, he doubted he could walk at all. A last time before he fell asleep he touched his body to check for wounds. A bandage was on his chest and it trilled with pain too.

If Peter really was no sleeping peacefully in the other section of the hospital, then this pain would mean nothing.

* * *

After a breakfast of tasteless cereal and cold milk, Berwald and Emil came for a visit. Berwald looked ghastly, but he always did after a bout of headaches. He was healthy at the present and bent down to kiss Tino's cheek.

"How are you?" Berwald asked, picking up a glass of water from the table and handing it to Tino gruffly.

Tino batted it away, his stomach protesting already from the breakfast. A nurse on the other side tended to the frail man, now visible with the curtains withdrawn. He was a dusty color, his hair short and messy. He waved a hand covered in ropes of veins. His chapped lips parted into a smile as he joked with the nurse. The nurse, a woman shaped like a bottle and with piano legs chuckled at his remarks and took a pen from its place in her blonde pony tail and jotted down a note on a piece of yellow paper. She must have been twenty-

_CRRAAASSSHHHH_

Tino slammed his palms against his ears as the symbols crashed.

"What is that?" Tino said, panting again. He felt the sound vibrate his very organs.

"What was what?" Emil asked, watching him with concerned eyes. His t-shirt barely hid the tattoo. His belt was loose.

Berwald shook his head and touched Tino's shoulder, rubbing it with his thumb. "The doctors said this might happen."

"Where's Peter?" Tino said. He had planned to segue into it, in case the worst had happened and the mere mention of the boy's name would send his husband into hysterics. When Berwald gave him a strained smile he sat up, disregarding the pain below his torso, and reached forward. Berwald pushed him back down.

"Stay down. It's no use wasting your energy. You need to get better. Peter's alive. He's on the floor below. You got into a bad car accident and he hit his head. He has a broken arm." Berwald said.

"You said he's alive, you didn't say he's well." Tino said, returning to the pillow reluctantly.

Emil hesitated.

"Well, he's well in health," he said.

"What happened? It's all my fault!" Tino burst into hot tears and covered his face with his hands. He felt like he'd been crying an awful lot lately.

Shaking his head, Berwald bent down and kissed Tino's wet cheek. "No, it's not your fault. You didn't see the driver because he rammed into you." At length, he added; "Emil, go see Peter. Then come here and tell Tino that he's fine. I'll explain meanwhile."

Emil nodded and turned, his shoes squeaking as he left.

The nurse approached Tino and gave him a brief check-up, seeing his temperature and his blood pressure. Berwald watched tight-lipped until she left with a small nod to Tino. Tino didn't smile at her or show any signs of noticing her presence. His head still ached from the symbols, and still some pain lingered from the gunshot.

"Why am I hearing this?" Tino said, pointing to his head.

"I'm not sure," Berwald said, "but the doctors said that you might suffer some sort of brain trauma. They didn't know for sure what it would be. When the doctor comes in a little bit we'll know for sure."

The nurse returned with a pink capsule. She pushed it into Tino's mouth and Tino worked up a ball of sweat to help swallow the pill. He grimaced at its bitter taste. Once the nurse was sure he had swallowed it and that it wasn't going to come back out, she left and told Berwald the doctor would be in shortly.

"What happened to Peter?" Tino asked.

"He's… different now."

* * *

Emil walked through the children's section of the hospital with his head bowed. He didn't like seeing the children so sick. It made his heart hurt and tears spring to his eyes. He passed rooms where children, bony and remorse, sat with their parents or sat alone.

Room 462 greeted him to the left. He turned in and pushed the door open. It was one of the smaller rooms. Two beds stood in the room, separated by a curtain just like in Tino's room. This curtain had pictures of toy trucks, trains, dolls, and several numbers. The bed nearest to the door was empty. The sheets were tightly tucked in and the machinery waited to be used.

On the other side a TV showed a cartoon where two fairies were conversing with what appeared to be a boy in a red suit. The various sounds emitted from it cloaked in a layer of static. They needed to upgrade the TVs, Emil thought dimly. He entered the other side slowly, peeking in and seeing Peter on the bed, propped up by three pillows. He had a cookie half-eaten in his hand. His eyes were not watching the TV, but had flitted to where Emil stood.

Emil entered and sat down lightly on one of the chairs. "I'm back," he said. "Remember me from last night?"

Peter nodded. "You're my brother."

"That's right. We just visited your Papa and he said that he misses you. Once you two get better we'll go home. Papa won't be able to walk for a while, so we'll have to be patient with him."

Peter nodded again.

"Do you like it here?" Emil asked, remembering that was exactly what Peter asked him not long ago. It stung to say that. He wondered if Peter remembered asking him that.

"Not really," Peter responded in a flat tone.

"Why not?"

"The food here doesn't taste good. I don't like it. Also the nurses touch me and I hate it."

"Oh, I see," Emil said, fingering the chair's arm.

They sat in silence for what felt like a very long time. Peter watched the TV without a word, his hand slowly crushing the sweet into bits. The crumbs scattered over a napkin set across his lap for that very reason. A bandage was wrapped around his head, spotted with blood along the temple. His other arm was in a cast from the elbow down. The cast was blue in a vain attempt to make it more appealing.

Emil was tempted to ask if Peter still loved him. He doubted Peter did. Peter wasn't feeling very much of anything.

A nurse entered, dusting off the other bed and placing a name plate on the top with a remorseful look that indicated right away that the patient coming in would be in there for a long time. She spotted Emil. Her face was round and pleasant. Her red hair was tied back and tufts of golden silk stood out at the sides above her ears. She lacked an upper lip and made up for it with a large lower one. "Hello," she said to the two brothers. "I'm just going to take your pulse, okay?"

She reached over and grasped Peter's wrist lightly. He dropped the cookie and howled as though she had struck him with a whip. She dropped his hand and sighed. He glowered at her and she decided on a more indirect way to go about measuring his pulse.

* * *

"What's wrong with Peter?" Tino said, scowling.

"Nothing's gone wrong. He has all his memories but he refuses to be touched, even by me or Emil. What's more he's very nervous. The doctor said that it was a temporary thing and that only time can heal it." Berwald responded, deciding on giving Tino the truth and nothing but.

Contemplating this, Tino fell quiet. He stared at his dark reflection in the dormant television screen. The nurse had left the old man and was now replaced by several young women who were obvious family members. He expected them to weep over the man and ask him to feel better soon, but none did. Instead they took on business-like roles and asked him about money and wills.

"Do you think I'm really going to die in this hellhole?" He asked with a harsh laugh.

"We do not think it, we know it," one woman said, "You're in critical condition. You won't live for much longer. I'm sorry. I really am. But we need to get this over with."

"Yes," the other one said, "Several of your organs are ruptured, your lungs are filling with liquid, and your children are very concerned."

"What horrible kind of cruelty is this?" The man said in an amused way, "Having three nieces as businesswomen! That's all well and good, but can't you drop the act for a minute? My brother was a businessman too and he did the exact same thing. No wonder you're just like him."

"This is not a time for jokes."

"Then let me die in peace in my own home in my own bed," the old man added seriously.

Tino growled and shot them a venomous look, "Why are you pestering him about money on his death bed?" he said.

"We aren't pestering him," the oldest woman began but was cut off. Tino groaned and clutched his hands to his ears ago. He writhed and pain exploded in his legs. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

This time the sound of a thousand cars screeching to a halt filled his brain. Each decibel dug through the wet flesh of his brain like sharp spikes.

Berwald was saying something to the group and gesturing to Tino. Tino tried to stop all of this by shutting his eyes and pulling the covers over his head, again a little kid. He burrowed through his memories, trying to find something to pull out and look over while Berwald conversed and Emil came back and until he got better.

He recalled the first and only time he ever wore a dress. It was a blazing hot summer day and Tino was digging through his closet, trying to find something to wear. All of his clothing was dirty. At the time he was still in high school and living as a hermit in his own "home". He was forced to do his own laundry and to care for himself.

That did mean a superfluous amount of autonomy as well. The day that the side walk literally vibrated with heat, Berwald lay in Tino's bed, looking out the window and scratching his bare chest. Tino needed something to wear to go outside to go to a café. He had planned this date out from beginning to end. He had reached the midway point: he would go out for breakfast with Berwald. He had enough money for it, after scraping and saving for two months. It was a typical poor-kid romance story, he realized at the time, and it made it more special in a way.

But Tino still couldn't find anything to wear. He reached into the very back of his closet and his fingers brushed against something soft. He pulled it over, expecting to find a ratty t-shirt, and instead found a heartrendingly beautiful summer dress. Standing up, he unfolded it. It was his size. The straps were as thick as his thumbs and were a pastel orange. The rest of the dress was a mix of soft colors and a rumpled rim. The breast was padded so the woman who wore it needed nothing extra to wear it.

Berwald looked over and watched him curiously. "Are you really gonna wear that?" he asked.

"I have nothing else. It might be fun to try," Tino said, already pulling the dress on and fixing his hair.

"It looks nice. Whose is it?"

"My mom's I think. Maybe it's someone else's." Tino said, spinning a few times to watch the dress swinging around his knees.

"Have you slept with any girl?"

"No."

"I see."

After Berwald was dressed they walked, hand in hand, to the nearby café and had an excellent breakfast. Tino could remember how the sky looked like an oil painting and how the world seemed at a complete rest. Just imagining how people walked by and smiled at Tino and Berwald and how the sweet summer air smelt and how the heart trembled with the very thought of it made Tino repose.

However it was not that summer anymore. Tino was too big to wear that dress. It still lingered in the back of his closet, hidden away like a memento or a secret.

Berwald went back to Tino's bedside and took Tino's hand, squeezing it gently.

"I found a job, by the way." He said.

"What kind of job?" Tino responded.

"It's nothing big. I still can't do much."

"That doesn't answer my question." Tino looked up and into Berwald's eyes. He could still see, beyond the film of fatigue and sickness, the Berwald he knew all those years ago. He could still see those young eyes watery from weeping. He could still picture those youthful eyes boring into his own as skin found its way along other skin; the danger of grunting too loud in the quiet house; the forgotten shores of new love. They had dove into the ocean and swam so far away from the shore that they couldn't see it. All they could see was the flowing ocean surrounding them on all sides.

"It's a job at an aquarium. I clean up, collect tickets, and I sometimes wait on tables in the eatery there." Berwald said, "I'm not qualified to feed the animals or care for them, but I still can make a decent wage off of this until my application to the new office is accepted."

"I'm glad." Tino said, squeezing Berwald's hand. "You could handle living without me, right?"

"What?" Berwald rounded on him.

Tino's lips were cracked into a smile.

"I'm terrified of being alone in the dark down there, Berwald. Why don't you put a candle or a light bulb in the grave with me?"

"I'm not going to because you aren't going to die."

* * *

Emil watched Peter for a moment. The boy's cheeks were flushed. The nurse had finished examining him. A curl had come loose from her plaited hair and hung over her face, swinging like a pendulum.

Once she left Peter gave Emil a look saying "this is all your fault".

"Peter?" Emil asked in response.

"What?"

"Why don't you want to be touched?"

"Because," Peter answered shortly.

"Peter you're smarter than that. Give me an answer. I'm your older brother, you have nothing to fear," Emil's eyes narrowed like a disturbed cat.

Peter sighed. "It's because it makes me feel sick. I don't feel very well right now. It's like someone built a brick wall in my brain. I don't like it. That's all. I don't want to talk about it."

"Fine," Emil said hotly and stood up, going out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Peter called after him, his voice almost said, but not quite there. It was as if his emotions were clotting behind the brick wall and only the barest feelings could escape.

Emil stopped as he went to the door. The patient was coming in. He retreated and stood on Peter's side of the room again.

"Where are you going?" Peter repeated.

The new patient was a girl in a wheel chair. The male nurse helped her on to the bed, laying out her nimble and bandaged legs before her. She was unconscious. It made Emil feel a pang of sadness he didn't like and didn't understand. He went back to Peter's bedside and looked down at the boy. The closeness made Peter flinch.

"I'll be back soon, alright?"

"No."

"What?"

Peter was shaking his head vehemently. "No, please. Please stay with me. I don't like being alone. Talking with you made me a little better. Please, please, please stay."

Emil pursed his lips and then sat down next to Peter again.

"What do you want to talk about?"

Peter shrugged.

"Just stay with me for a little while."

"Okay."

* * *

The heart monitor beeped normally. Tino stared at the ceiling with a broken grin. He kept his hands on his stomach.

"It's nearly lunchtime." He said.

Berwald twisted his lips to the side and grunted agreement.

"Berwald?"

"Huh?"

"I'll wait for you."

"Wait for me where?"

"I don't know." After a pause: "I think that after I die I'll go to a place like a train station. When I get off the train I'll sit on a bench and wait for the rest of the trains to arrive. Thousands, no, millions of passengers will pour out of the trains at a time. All of them freshly dead and they look for their families. Some of them will have to go alone because they have nowhere to go. But I'll be waiting. I'll sit right there, smiling at passengers and waiting and waiting and waiting. Finally a train will pull up and there you'll be. You'll have lived a long, good life. You'll see me and I'll take you down the hall. I don't know what's at the end of the hall but it's really bright. It's so bright that everything is white and the white is pouring into the visible parts of the halls as though they've been erased. After a little bit we'll come back and visit Peter and Emil. But I don't like thinking about that because it makes my heart hurt. They're so young. I don't want them to ever die."

"If anything I'll wait for you at that station," Berwald said softly.

"Maybe we'll go down together."

The even clicks of a doctor's dress shoes resounded down the room. Berwald looked up and found the doctor, a tall, lanky fellow with thick glasses coming to them. He gave both of them a bright smile.

"Hello, how are you two?" the doctor said, picking up a clipboard and examining the notes the nurse left.

"We're fine, thank you," Berwald said.

"Alright you've been getting a lot better!" the doctor addressed Tino. "You're legs are recovering which is remarkable for a two day recovery. But it'll still be a long while before you can walk on them. We'll have you out of here soon but even then you'll need a wheelchair before you can use crutches."

After a quick discourse on his health, Tino described the various loud sounds he had heard.

"Oh, that's called Exploding Head Syndrome." The doctor nodded sagely. He went on to explain that he had very little idea of how it came about in Tino's head. He conjectured that it was due to him being hit on the head in such a precise way. He said to wait it out.

He said the same thing about Peter.

* * *

Tino and Peter both stayed in the hospital for another week. Peter could walk just fine and ambled into the car's backseat all while refusing help. This was the first time he saw Tino after the accident. Tino scarcely said a word, fearing that he would embrace Peter and thusly scare him.

The wheelchair Tino was set in was cumbersome and a pain to move in and out of a car, leaving Tino bedridden until he could utilize crutches. By that time Peter and Emil were back in school and the explosions in his head decreased.

What started out as a horrible turn in their life became an improvement. Berwald was accepted to a new engineering firm and Peter began to heal. He would allow people to touch him on the hand for several moments before he would feel sick again and have to retract his body away. Tino's legs slowly improved. He went to work on an altered schedule for the time being, but otherwise everything settled back to normal.

By the time Emil's seventeenth birthday rolled around, celebrated by going out with several of his school friends, Tino could walk well. Besides several scars and the occasional bursting in the brain, the accident became a thing of the past.

To take up a new adventure Berwald decided to look up Peter's past in his free time. He wanted first off to know why he refused to be touched and if he could get in touch with his family and find out anything useful. It was not a pressing matter so it became a side hobby.

Peter went by with only one seizure that school year. When he returned home carrying a tooth he had lost, he suddenly fell down and writhed in pain. Emil had a friend over and both the parents were at work. With a quick trip to the hospital it became another forgotten matter.

That is except for one change: Peter didn't mind being touched at all. It was as if he skipped the entire healing process. Since it was not an inconvenience, no one truly minded.


	10. Shameful Dreams

**8.**

**Shameful Dreams**

There, in the darkness of the room, Peter realized that he was not alone. He slowly lifted his head to examine this bizarre specimen. After his eyes adjusted to the moonlight-laced darkness, he noticed that he was not in his room. His bed was in a different position, for one, facing the window rather than being positioned next to it. Emil's bed was nowhere to be seen. A circular rug covered the floor and at its farthest end an armchair faced him.

On the armchair the stranger sat. It was a woman, Peter could tell from the way the dim light captured the face and body of her. The stranger lifted her chin when she noticed Peter had caught sight of her. Peter could not see her face or the color of her clothing, or even her hair style.

"Peter, dear, how are you?" She asked in a gentle voice.

Shifting uncomfortably, Peter gave her a strained smile. "Hello, miss, I'm good."

"I'm your mother," she said. "Come here. You can't see mama that way. Come closer."

Peter hesitated, but, driven by a strange desire to see the woman who held him in her womb, he slipped out of bed and approached her. She stretched out her slender hand, her fingers crooked like a piano player's.

"Come closer."

Peter brushed her fingers and felt wrinkled, dry skin instead of the soft flesh he expected to feel. He looked back at the hand and found that his mother had vanished and instead was replaced with an elderly man. The man's face from this distance he could see clearly. His face looked like a rage that had been dirtied, washed, defiled, torn, destroyed, and worn by time. His eyes were hard as stones.

"Come closer, Peter," his raspy voice said.

Peter stepped back, his lower lip trembling. "Where's mom?"

"You miss her even though you've never met her. How do you know she's really your mother? How do you know you can trust her at all? Do you miss her? Do you hate your present family? You must, since you would drop them at the turn of the dime for some sensual woman." The man said flatly. Each word, no matter how dull, turned sharp and pierced Peter.

"N-No!" Peter said, suffocating. The air seemed to have collapsed in the room. Cracks appeared along the wall and sucked away the oxygen. Peter clutched his throat and fell to his knees. "No…" he gasped.

He woke, breathless. He shot up in bed and looked around, feeling a draft tickle his skin with cold. The window was open, the curtain fluttering in the breeze. Emil's bed was empty. The covers were strewn as if he had to rush out to use the bathroom.

Peter stayed locked into a sitting position until shoes scraped against the window. He couldn't tell if it had been two minutes or two hours, or even two days. Emil clambered back in, pulling off his shoes and tearing off his clothing. His features were flushed and oddly clear in the dark. He felt eyes on his neck and turned to find Peter gawking at him.

"What are you looking at? Go back to sleep." Emil said, slamming the window shut and creeping back in bed, falling asleep in a matter of moments.

Emil had never used that tone with Peter. Peter felt insulted and betrayed. He lay back down and placed his hands on his round stomach. A million bizarre thoughts crossed in his mind, floating in and out like pain in a wound. Some thoughts lingered and others vanished within moments. One thought remained the longest.

Like many children, he wondered what would happen if he died in his death. He felt sad suddenly. He felt that Emil would wake and laugh at him, or that no one would care since he wasn't really related to them. The sorrow he felt was so sweet he held on to it and milked it for as long as possible. At one point he pretended that death really had come and taken him away. He shut his eyes and kept his hands crossed over his chest, smiling bitterly.

When he realized that perhaps this was a strange fantasy, he rolled to his side and fell asleep. In the morning he remembered none of it, or any of his other dreams except that they contained a penguin and some lost girl.


	11. Teenager

**9.**

**Teenager**

Tino had a habit of doing the ironing whenever he was feeling angry. It was a chore that juggled around him and Berwald—and sometimes Emil—but went straight to Tino when he grabbed the iron and slammed it down on the board.

"Careful, Tino, you'll break it at this rate," Berwald muttered, glancing over from the TV to Tino. The TV hawked on about some game show where a single mother was betting her all to win a few bucks. Tino, hunched over the board, grunted in response, stretching out the arms of the dress shirt and pressing them down. Clouds of steam puffed up from the iron's spout.

"I'm just worried about Emil. Last night was the third time he's left this month." Tino said, pinching the blouse and folding it, tossing it in the basket.

"He's young and rebellious. What do you expect?" Berwald responded.

"Yes but that is no excuse to go mucking around the whole town. Who knows? He might be off making love to a bunch of girls! I don't want him to be the father of a horde of illegitimate children… Here, there's another tear." He added in a softer tone, tossing a pair of black skinny jeans to Berwald. Berwald caught them and spread them over his lap. He examined the tear, right at the knee, and picked up a needle.

Stringing a black thread through it and adjusting his glasses, he sighed. "I doubt he'd do that. Even then, you escaped in the night to visit me. Doesn't that make you hypocritical?"

Tino pursed his lips, examining one of Peter's shirts and picking at a stain that refused to come out in the washing machine. "Yes. But at least I was with another man. How do you know that he hasn't caught some infection?"

"How do you know he's with a girl?" Berwald dug the needle into the tear, holding it with his forefinger and thumb. He dragged the thread to until the knot at the end caught in the fabric. Then he proceeded to sew it up the way his mother taught him, and quickly;  _puck-puck-puck._

"I don't. But I can only assume." Tino placed a pair of underwear on the board and slammed the iron against it, his cheeks flushed.

The two fell silent. The TV clattered with some host's made-for-TV voice, the iron hissed, and the needle plucked through the fabric. Once the hole had been sewn up, Berwald raised the pants before him and examined his work. He folded it and placed it on top of three other sewn-up jeans, all of which were Emil's.

"I swear, if I find a bra in here I'll burst," Tino said, digging through the pile of warm, clean laundry and searching for the rest of the black or white clothing. With his house-keeping, Tino was meticulous and organized. He wasn't at first but being his own person as a teenager and having the clean Berwald with him pounded it into his brain.

"I've never seen you this high-strung, Tino," Berwald mused.

"I'm just worried about Emil!"

"He's seventeen. I'm sure he'll be fine. In a year he'll be out of this house. How do you expect him to function if he has autonomy a day after he wasn't allowed even to go out when he wanted to? It's ridiculous, and you know it." Berwald paused, gazing at Tino who watched him with strained, frightened eyes. "I know you love him, Tino, but you have to give him some freedom. Kids need it."

Tino placed the iron upright and folded an undershirt as he spoke. "I love him. I want him to be safe."

"But he's older. Look, when Peter starts doing this I'll agree with you. But we don't even know Emil that well. For all we do know, he could be out helping the homeless or something like that. I think that's what he's doing, yes." Berwald nodded to himself, picking up a shirt Tino dropped with his middle and forefinger. He folded it in his lap and tugged off a string that hung loose at the sleeves.

Tino walked over and sat down by Berwald, resting his head on the broad shoulder offered to him. Berwald kissed his head and placed his hand on Tino's soft thigh, exposed at the end of his shorts. A light rain fell outside, tapping against the window with fly-sized drops. The grass and trees shone emerald green, the only way they could after a fresh rain. The sky was overcast, but hardly gloomy. The sound of bicycle tires and children giggling trickled in from the front yard.

Peter was visiting a friend and Emil had gone off without explanation. Tino had reluctantly let him go after Berwald insisted on it. It was no secret that Emil had been slipping out at night. The mud on his shoes and the floor, his torn clothing, and his audacious personality had given it way. Both parents doubted that Emil had wanted it to be a secret in the first place. Tino had only guessed that it had been three times Emil escaped, but in reality it was possibly much, much more.

"Tino," Berwald said. Tino didn't respond and stood up, Berwald's hand falling from his leg. He went back to ironing, shutting off the TV on his way. The sound of rain consumed the sudden vacancy the loss of sound provided. "Tino," Berwald repeated.

"Yes?" Tino didn't look up.

"Tino, you shouldn't worry so much. What would Emil's brother say? I'm certain that he would allow him to do this."

"Yeah, what  _would_ he think?" Tino grumbled. "It's awful hard to think when you're in the grave." He pulled the ends of his shorts down. He was hesitant about wearing anything that showed off his legs which were still an ugly shade of punk and scarred all over.

"What?" Berwald said. Death had left Tino's mind and remained behind in the hospital. But when Tino was upset anything could happen. "What did you say?"

Tino's face flushed and his firm lips, lips made to be kissed, tightened into a white line. "Nothing," he shook his head, "Nothing."

"You said that Emil's brother was dead. That's what you insinuated, at least," Berwald said. His heart began to race.

"I was just making a stupid, morbid joke." Tino said into the ironing board.

"No you weren't. You're a bad liar, Tino."

"Well, yes I am."

"What happened to him?" It came off more as a demand than a question. Berwald was still having trouble digesting the news. He took off his glasses and wiped them with the hem of his shirt.

Tino propped up the iron again and listened to its protesting hisses. "He was murdered."

Berwald's mouth felt dry. He never knew the saliva could be sucked out of it so quickly. He felt a tingle in his knees, as though all his blood had dropped down into them from the shock. "What?"

"He was sitting at home and, keep in mind it was a cheap, sketchy neighborhood, next thing he knew some burglars barged in, stole his things, and stole his life." Tino shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows to stem the flood of tears, "The next morning his landlady found him dead with a slit throat and defiled beyond recognition."

Berwald was reminded uncomfortably of the time their house had been burglarized. This was several days after they could finally say they owned this home. The two, elated, went out to buy some groceries and eat, since their fridge was a barren wasteland. When they came home, laughing at some joke, they discovered an eerie air to the house.

Tino stopped laughing immediately. He placed the grocery bags on the floor and stepped in quietly. Berwald followed close behind. The sliding glass windows to the backyard were shattered. Shards of glass coated the ground like snow. A black, slick rock stood in the middle of the room. The old TV from their old apartment was gone. After a look around the house with several police officers they discovered that the burglars had fled along with a watch and several other trinkets. Granted, the couple had little to be stolen in the first place so there was nothing of worth to be stolen. The burglars turned out to be some neighbors who were arrested not long after. The windows and other stolen goods were replaced. For a year following that event neither Berwald nor Tino felt very safe in the house. They considered moving multiple times.

At night they slept close together, their eyes lightly closed. Any sound, even if it was the wind brushing against the roof, they shot awake and glowered in the dark. Even after all the time had elapsed since then, Tino still had nightmares of waking up to find his house ransacked.

"Why would they do that?" Berwald asked Tino, dragging himself out of his reverie.

"I don't know. Same reason they got into our house, I suppose," Tino said. He had been remembering the same thing. He winced violently as another loud sound exploded in his head. He had gotten used to them now. They came and went like earth quakes. Some were light tremors and others were mountain-causing shudders.

"Does Emil know?" Berwald asked.

"No. I'm the only one who knows. They asked me to tell Emil in the best way I can. I haven't found the right time."

"You're procrastinating."

"I know. I know..." Tino shook his head, his hands moving mechanically over the last three items of laundry.

"Wait, that means that Emil hasn't received any letters or notifications from his brother." Berwald said, raising his eyes as though a shaft of light had finally enlightened him, "That makes sense. Since he feels so abandoned by his brother, he's become moody and dangerous. He wants to do bad things because it takes his mind off of his issues."

"And telling him that his brother is dead will worsen it. He's a teenager. He's reached that point. I think he's already passed his moody, hate-life phase, but maybe he hasn't. Maybe this could trigger it. I'm worried, I'm really worried, Berwald."

"I know. I am too."


	12. Dear Peter II

_Dear Peter,_

_I realize that your mother sent you a letter not long ago. In fact, I was the one who insisted that she write it. Of course she wanted to write to you and tell you all those things she kept locked up in her heart, but she didn't have the strength to do it._

_I believe that she explained our reasons for letting you go._

_But I don't think she provided enough insight on my side of the story. You hardly remember her, but you must remember me. I never told you I was your father directly. I was just a vague figure who flitted in and out of your life. I was the ghost in your attic that you didn't care about much, unless it was rapping on the floor boards or breaking your vases. I always entered your life and either made it worse or better. It was never consistent, granted, and I never wanted to worsen it. I love you, Peter, but there's only so much I could do from my position._

_I'm sure you don't want to think about your past. With this new life there is no need to think of the suffering you endured in your tender young years. I promise I tried as hard as I could, but I know it wasn't enough. That's why I'll do what your mother did and have you read this letter only when your parents think the right time has come._

_I don't know where to start with my story. I sit here, at my desk as rain pours down on London, and I'm at a loss. I ruminated over this letter for ages. Only when I picked up the pen did I realize that everything I thought of could be said in a paragraph. So I will start at the beginning. I was born in England, I met your mother as a child, and we grew up. I loved your mother, but I was never in love with her. Do you understand this? Your parents must give you this letter by the time you can understand love and how it is different from the nauseating feeling of being_ in  _love._

_I think she was in love with me. She never married or dated or had any relations with anyone. Her eyes were set on me and I knew. I just couldn't find myself returning the feelings for someone like that. She was dear and special to me, no doubt, but nothing more than a friend. I hardly even saw her as a potential mate, if you excuse my wording, until that fateful night._

_We were out in a pub having a good time with some old friends. She was tight on money as is and I insisted on buying her several drinks. She agreed after some time, if only to talk with me, and we had possibly one of the greatest nights of our life. When our friends dispersed, leaving us alone, I took her home. She was drunk and so was I. Although I had little sense of direction, I knew enough to get her home before some bloke took advantage of her wretched state._

_She giggled and hugged me the entire way, placing her head on my chest and feeling my warmth. She touched me where I didn't want to be touched, but I was out of my mind drunk, as I said before. I took her home and she convinced me to stay. At night she said she was cold. I was staying in her shabby apartment since I couldn't drive or even raise my hand to hail a taxi. I went to sleep by her bed and one thing led to another._

_When she found out that you were within her she cried for a long time. I loved her enough to stay and help her through the pregnancy, since she refused an abortion. I think she hoped secretly for a miscarriage. After you were a born and until you were weaned we cared for you, and I then told her to give you up to fostering. Then you went around the family and now there you are with a happy family that I trusted._

_Now, at the time I'm writing this and as the rain is becoming sleet, your mother is doing fine. She found herself a man who could keep her company. The last time I saw her was to take the letter. It sits next to my hand, stamped and addressed. I don't know the man's name, but she's happier now. Money is no longer a problem._

_I've been doing well myself. I was never tight on money, but I didn't want to connect to your mother and make her unhappy. Then we would have been feeding you ill will and hostile attitudes. Your family now is loving and your new addition—the teenage brother—I hope will be even better for you._

_All my best wishes,_

_Arthur Kirkland_


	13. Her Story Part I: The Archives

**10.**

**Her Story Part I**

X

**The Archives**

On the night of the  **First Encounter** , Emil had been unable to sleep. Hardly a breath of wind drew across the window panes. He felt restless and unnerved. His brother hadn't contacted him in what felt like three thousand years. The last letter of correspondence sat on his desk, stale and cold. He must have read it at least a dozen times since he received it. When he sent his reply, he expected a response. It never came.

After a bout of rustling in his bed, he rolled out and sat on the edge of it. His pale feet stuck out before him, the bony knees touched and his thighs curved out and then met at the base, creating an oval of empty space between his legs. Fine silver hairs stood up, making goose bumps. It wasn't cold, but he felt chilled to the bone. He tugged his black t-shirt down, covering his legs as far as they would go, where they weren't covered by the boxers. His night-light cut watery purple light into the darkness and told him that it was nearing eleven.

Emil had never considered running away, but now the prospect loomed on him. He wanted to rip free of it all and disappear. But he loved his family here and he didn't mind the school, which was new.

He debated this for a while. In the end he decided on escaping for an hour or two to smell the fresh air. Thus he pulled on his jeans and tossed on a jacket, pulling some old, ratty shoes from the back of the closet he shared with Peter. He attempted to pull the window open without a noise, but even the slightest scrape sounded like thunder. Peter didn't budge. Certain that Peter wouldn't wake even if an asteroid slammed into the earth a millimeter from the window, Emil shoved it open and climbed down.

Back in his hometown, when he lived with Lukas, he was notorious for his climbing skills. He used to visit the mountains and trek up the steep edges as easily as if he were walking on flat land. People found him constantly in tree-tops or on roofs. Cats would visit him in his hiding places far above the terrestrial soil and away from prying eyes. Their slick bodies rubbed against his legs and kept him company when he felt that human presence was insufferable.

Getting down from the window was a cinch. He hit the ground with both feet; the sound muffled by soft grass, and started walking. He didn't know where to go. His feet would take him wherever he needed to be, he decided in the end. He shoved his hands in his pockets. The air was cold and stagnant. Nothing shifted. No one but the occasional insect stirred. Emil exited the neighborhood and found a dirt path at the end of the road that cut through an empty, weedy field.

More walking showed that the park wasn't entirely succumbed to nature. The end sported tall trees, a clean bench, and smothered cigarette butts that littered the circle of pavement. Emil sat down on the bench.

Then, he heard something rustle.

His muscles seized up.

**Oh god, oh god no it's one of those murderer psychos that waits for kids like me in the dark to kill or murder or do some other nasty shit to them oh no please don't please don't**

Nothing stirred again and very, very faintly, like an erased pencil mark, there came a breath. Emil's eyes dilated. He pulled his hands from his pockets and discovered that they were rigid from fright. And they were cold too. So cold that he had trouble bending them. The blood didn't move right. It felt like it got stuck on the first knuckle and refused to move on. Some rebellious blood cells did trickle through, tickling the frightened veins.

**Who is there? I should just ask. I can't, though. What if it really is a psycho? I mean it probably isn't. It's probably a homeless person trying to sleep. And here I am disturbing him. Why am I so scared? That's because I'm a coward. I'm such a coward that I ran out of my own home. I ran out because I was scared shitless. Now I'll be killed here. Mr. Tino will find me in the newspaper with my throat slit and my entrails out—**

"Who's there?" Emil croaked, his voice slithering through the cracks.

Another breath was drawn.

**Who are you? What do you want from me?**

"Hello?"

Again no response from the stranger hiding behind the curtain of dark.

**If you want money I don't have any. You hear? All I have is a bit of gum and a broken pencil. Even the pencil doesn't work anymore. It's just a useless nub. If you want it though I can give it to you so long as you don't kill me; does that sound good?**

"I won't hurt you," Emil said.

"Really?"

**Oh shit it's a girl. Not that it's a bad thing, but if she hurts me or if I hurt her we'll be both in a lot of trouble. Besides, what is she doing here? Is she a hooker? I'm not interested. I'm seventeen. I want to go home.**

"Yes, really, I'm just a scared kid," Emil found himself saying instead.

Finally the figure retreated from the darkness. As she stood she proved to be taller than Emil. Her black curls were tightly bound in a ponytail. Her face was ovular and her eyes shaped like almonds; two glittering almonds.

"So am I," She said softly. "Did you run away from home?"

"No, I just escaped for a night. I couldn't handle it anymore."

"That's what I thought too when I left." She moved over and sat by Emil. Her clothing was matted with dirt and her nails were long. She smelled awful. Emil tried not to gag.

"I don't know. I really don't. Is it alright if I talk for some time? I haven't spoken to anyone in so long. I mean I work at a tattoo place but I don't talk there. I just clean so I can make a few bucks to pay for food and all. Let's make a deal, actually. You let me talk and then you can tell me anything you want?"

**I'll be here all night. No thanks. Actually, I was considering going back home just now.**

"That sounds like a deal."

She smiled. Her upper row of teeth was a fragment too large to be considered pretty. The rest of her face was nice, though. Her nose was sharp but not cutting, her eyelashes long and moth-like, and her skin, beneath all that grime, seemed to be soft.

"I'll try not to talk your ear off. I guess that's why people were fed up with me. I doubt they actually were, since they never told me to stop unless they were laughing all like 'hey, peace, man, you can slow down just a lil' bit.' I guess I never got the hint. Or maybe I did. Anyway that's beside the point. I ran away because I wanted to. I didn't like school. I didn't like my friends or family. They were really nice and all, but they were SO boring. Do you SEE what I mean? Oh, my gosh, I just couldn't handle it. I felt like my head would melt from the boringness. Is that a word? I guess it is now," she let out a quick peal of laughter, "Anyway that happened. I did ballet and everyone was mean there too so I quit. Well, no mean, but I didn't fit in. I don't fit in anywhere. Sometimes I just want to go into space and live on another planet. Wouldn't that be nice?"

**Being on a planet far away from you? Oh, yes please!**

"Yeah, that would be nice sometimes." Emil nodded.

"So it was like that for so long that I was sent to a therapist. Well, actually, I was sent there for a different reason. I was there because I ran away from school in the middle of class and got in three fights that day. The therapist said that I should take matters in my own hands. You know what I did?"

**Oh let me guess…**

"You took matters into your own hands…?"

"Yeah! I thought, hey that's an awesome idea! I'll just pack my things and ditch this joint. I like that word. It makes me feel like I'm from a shady place. But I'm not. I'm just from an average stretch of town with quiet little parks and starless night skies and boys that ditch their houses in the middle of the night to talk to me."

"I'm not the first one you've seen?"

"No, silly, it was just a… figure of speech. Is that what you call it? Well, I think it is." She fell quiet suddenly and looked away, as if she had never spoken in the first place.

**This girl is strange.**

"I think I should get going." Emil said, standing up. He had become accustomed to the smell. He wondered if the tendrils of foul stench had latched onto him somehow. Something in the back of his head said that Tino and Berwald would find out even if he covered ever single track left behind.

**But a good kind of strange.**

"You'll come back to see me, won't you?" She looked at him, her eyes suddenly desperate.

**No way**

"Yes, I'll come back." Emil said and bade her good bye. He heard her stand up and return to her hide out. Before he left he heard some sort of snack package being split open.

In all honesty, he really didn't plan on coming back. He wanted to stay at home from then on.

Instead he came many more times.

* * *

Berwald was home alone. The clock ticked away the seconds with dry little ticks. Birds twittered outside. Their songs pierced the air like needles. With nothing better to do, Berwald went to the library. He had a job and this was his day off. He had tried to get Tino to take off an extra day to be with him, or to move his regular break, but Tino would have none of it.

"Besides," he had said, "We'll be together on the weekends."

The library was silent that weekday. A student lingered in the back, scratching his forehead with his pencil and digging through a calculus textbook. An elderly lady chatted with the librarian, holding a cup of coffee with bejeweled fingers. Light poured in from outside.

Berwald browsed through column after column of books. Books on cooking, sewing, mathematics, biology, chemistry, physiology, psychology, psychics, psychedelics, music, classical music, professions, geology, geography, History from ever era, recent history, archaic artifacts, gardening, crochet, French, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Russian, Hebrew, Hindu, Icelandic, Swedish, Finnish, English, Italian, Latin, Greek, healthy, appliances, literature from a to z, lost children, adoption, the case of the strange boy in London, anthropology, s-

Wait, what was that?

Berwald back tracked and looked at the book he had barely brushed past. He pulled it from its shelf. It was a leather-bound book. Gold letters printed the title across the front: The Case of the Strange Boy in London. Again, Berwald had no better way to spend his time, and took it to the table. He touched the cover, but didn't feel ready yet to read it. Instead he went to the table at the front of the library and brewed himself some coffee to drink from a paper cup. The windows stood from floor to ceiling, pooling in light on the shelves that were arranged neatly into parallel rows. A children's section was in the back, filled with colors and soft cushions to sit on. The other side was for conferences or book-signings. Behind one of the podiums were three doors, all leading to private conference rooms. In the middle his book sat on one of the many circular tables intended for the very purpose of providing a comfortable spot for students and researchers to sit, snack, and read.

Taking the steaming cup from the table, Berwald went back to the table. He set the cup aside and opened the book.

It was a binding of several separate papers, all compiled under one cause. Berwald wondered if it was an artistic choice or if the book was an actual document. He didn't remember where he found it and there were no tags on the bag saying what genre it was. There was no choice but to read it.

The first page had the title of the book printed on a yellowed, laminated paper. The page behind it had several scribble notes from the authors. Behind that was another broad page with "THE ARCHIVES" along the top.

The first archive was a written transliteration of a recording.

* * *

**THE ARCHIVES #1**

**The Interview** *

 **David Grace:** Hello Miss. I'm David Grace from [xxxxxxxx]**. I'm here to interview you on several events of your past. You may leave if you feel that your privacy has been invaded. To start, what is your name, Miss?

 **Client:** I go by many named, Mr. Grace. But I guess you can call me Candy.

 **DG:** A pleasure to meet you, Candy.

 **C:** the pleasure is all mine. [ _laughs]_

 **DG:** It is to my knowledge that your house hosted an adopted child for some time. Correct?

 **C:** Yeah, that's right.

 **DG:** Glad I'm not mistaken. Could you describe in as much detail as you can what it was like and what happened? We don't know much about it other than he was there and then he left.

 **C:** [ _pauses_ ] Well I didn't know much about him. I didn't even know my parents wanted another child. I honestly thought my brother and I were a handful already! But I guess I was mistaken. After a while I realized that it was because it was a family crisis and the kid had nowhere else to go. He was sick. He suffered epilepsy. They brought him home one day, I was still in high school and I was busy with my own drama, so I didn't see much of him. He was what? Five? Six? At any rate he didn't stay long, maybe a month give or take. He was quiet. He always locked himself up in his room and read for days upon days! What a brilliant kid! He read magazines and picture books. Mum and dad insisted that he buy some books or go to the library, but he just refused.

 **DG:** Pardon the intrusion, but you sometimes speak with a British accent and sometimes without.

 **C:** Oh that! Don't worry about that. My job has me sometimes fake an American accent so I guess it sticks. Then again language wasn't really my best subject.

 **DG:** I'm sorry to have interrupted you. Please continue, miss.

 **C:** Where was I…? Oh, yes. Well when he was at home I didn't like him. I guess he was better than some screaming little kid annoying me all the time, but he was just _too_ quiet. Does that make sense? I always got this really weird feeling around him. It was like his shadow wasn't right or he just gave off this nasty aura you sometimes feel when you're in a bad place. He left before I could really determine his character. He felt like an intruder, for one. It was like he didn't just not belong in my house but he didn't belong anywhere. Not even on this planet.

 **DG:** What a peculiar feeling, Candy.

 **C:** [ _smiles briefly_ ] Yeah, I suppose so. But as I was saying. He left and then things changed a little. There was tension between my parents. I know now that they made him leave because he was just so sick, but I'm fairly certain there was another reason. Aside from that weird aura, I'm certain he was just an average kid. Maybe he was cursed.

 **DG:** Do you believe in curses?

 **C:** No, not really. I just say that because I don't have any other explanation for it. But when it really comes down to  _why_  they made that poor kid go I just don't believe that it could have been sickness. He was healthy most of the time. The only time he really showed signs of being really sick was that one seizure he had. It was a month before he was ousted. And Mum could handle [ _her brother_ ] really well even though he threw up a lot and coughed all day. I don't understand it.

 **DG:** Do you want to?

 **C:** No.

 **DG:** Do you have any guesses as to why he may have left?

 **C:** Not a clue. Maybe Mum also felt that aura. Maybe he got in a fight.

 **DG:** Constant over stimulation may numb the mind but in the end it results to three final conclusions that a) he was gone b) he was out and c) he was

 **C:** I never thought of that! Haha

 **DG:** Oh that's very well and all but there's nothing to fear a ph2i jsqwnl

 **C:** [xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx]

 **DG:** [xxxxxxx]

 **C:** [xxxxxxxxxxxxx]

 **DG:** [xxx]

 **C:** [xx]

 **DG:** Do you think you can expand on what happened during that time?

 **C:** Yes, I think I can. Basically I had no money to go to college and applied to sell my body for some time. This was a year after the boy left. He had escaped my mind, actually. Anyway, then [ _her brother_ ] died in fit of food poisoning.

 **DG:** I'm very sorry to hear that.

 **C:** uiwefgdlkfo;wc ;jbj;nouwl gefdljklhsqe clsnkthatboyjqwblj qwlb

 **DG:** THEREISNOTHINGTOBESEENINTHISFILE***

_*This is what the producers insisted on the title being_

_**unintelligible_

_***We are very sorry. There is no explanation for the strange formatting. This could be a typo or a corruption in the transaction of the information. We are not certain and therefore have kept the file in here as a whole._ –Jacob Meyers and Susanna Clarke; authors

* * *

Berwald glowered at the page. The interview, describing Peter with chilling accuracy, had come to such a sudden end. His stomach hurt.

The sky was darkening outside. Clouds had gathered and began to block out the sunlight that had poured in like liquid warmth. Rain was impending. Berwald went against all his feelings and checked out the book. He made it back home just as the rain began to fall down. He set the book down in his office and went back to the kitchen, starting on dinner for the family.

Setting up the materials to make dinner, he tried to think of something to occupy his mind. As always, memories comforted him most. His mind wandered back to Tino. He reminisced about several things before Peter's image came back in mind. The back of his throat burned and he had to think of something else. Finally he went back to the Doctor's office. He placed the fish on the cutting board and gingerly sliced them into thin pieces.

This was not the doctor who had predicted his death, but rather a doctor of his childhood. He had contacted the flu and his mother, worried, pulled him out of school for a day and drove him straight to the doctor's office. Berwald had never feigned sickness so she trusted him completely, but she wanted him healthy all the same.

The doctor took his temperature and tested him for various other ailments. All the while she asked him harmless questions about school and his at-home life. Her black hair was tied back and away from her eyes, which were wide and brown. Berwald responded to her, looking at his mother who sat in the chair. Her hands were clasped around her patent pink handbag, tucked between her legs. Her leg fidgeted with anticipation.

His mother gave him a reassuring smile. Berwald responded with a loud and messy sneeze. The doctor handed him a tissue and, as Berwald wiped the snot from himself, she explained to his mother that it was the average flu. There was nothing to be worried about.

"Give him some rest," she said.

His mother sighed in relief and took Berwald home, buying him some ice cream along the way. Berwald felt much better there, a cold dessert in one hand and his mother's warm grip in the other.

The rain continued to fall as Berwald set the seasoned fish slices on a pan and cooked them, rocking them and adding lemon. Cooking always put him at ease. In fact, any creation of any sort made him relax. Tino liked to relax by watching the snow or a fire burn in the hearth or to curl up, knowing that the outside cold couldn't get on his skin. Peter relaxed by being quiet and locked away. Emil relaxed by listening to music or sketching, and sometimes writing poetry.

Berwald had found one of these poems before. He was vacuuming their room and found, on the desk, a half-finished poem. He peered over, conscious that he was invading privacy, but also so madly curious. It read;

_Precious rose, precious rose_

_I give it to you to bring to your nose_

_What lovely petals they do wear_

_Your beauty I cannot bear_

There it ended. Berwald wanted Emil to continue, but to tell him that would be to admit that he had been snooping. Berwald remained quiet and hoped to one day find the lovelorn poem finished.

Tino came home with Emil and Peter. They all, weary from the day's hard toil, washed, and wolfed down their dinner with hardly a word to each other. Peter went upstairs to take a bath and Emil went off to do his own thing. He didn't abscond in the middle of a rainy night.

That left Berwald and Tino at the table. Tino gave him a look, that same one he gave him all those years ago.

The act was nothing but a physical motion. Berwald's mind was elsewhere. It was in some disturbed, shadowy realm far away from the warm body near him and the heart pounding inside him.


	14. The Attic: The Other Guest

**11.**

**The Attic**

X

**The Other Guest**

The guest terrified Peter. He had been warned in advance of his arrival by Tino, who strained a smile.

"Peter, we're having your uncle over. He's in town and you understand how rude it is not to have someone over, when they're part of the family, and have nowhere to stay." He had said. Peter nodded, feeling excited to see a new face to disrupt the monotone of his lifestyle.

Berwald overhead and asked Tino who the guest was; Tino replied with a falling smile. Berwald's expression changed rapidly: shock, disgruntlement, disappointment, anger, and, briefly, worry. He took Tino's slim arm and took him to another room in which he yelled.

Peter heard the sound of arguing and dropped to the floor, slamming his hands over his ears and making a sound he knew was called "groaning". It continued some time, Berwald's voice straining with the harsh syllables of his language, softening to express cool rage, and then exploding again with accusation after accusation. To all of this Tino listened, eyes wide. He had never seen Berwald yell at him so much. He had once screamed a word or two, but then apologized and felt terrible. But now Berwald, red in the face, showed no signs of stopping. Emil, in his room, heard the yelling and stiffened until it passed.

No one cried. Berwald left, panting and watery-eyed. Tino exited the room some time after, not a sign of sadness on his face, but rather building discontent. He eyed Peter, who watched in horror.

"It's okay, Peter. Your father just does not agree with your uncle. The uncle is his cousin, somewhat, and they never got along. Don't worry. He's a nice man, I promise." When Peter still looked at him with distrust, Tino sighed and held out his small finger. "I made that promise when you came, remember? That we would try to make the very best of it all?"

Peter nodded.

"Are you going back on that promise?"

"No."

"Good," Tino smiled and kissed Peter's forehead, leaving to finish his chores.

Emil listened to all of this at the other end of the hallway.

In the meantime Berwald, to let off steam, went into the closet. He sat down in the back of it, behind a curtain of clothing and in the darkness. Beside him was his mother's box. Inside of it, newly added, were the two letters meant for Peter. He intended to give them both to Peter, by hand, when he was ready. Little did he know that the transaction would never directly include his hands.

He remained there, glass off, and thought for some time.

As a child he often went into the dark corners of his house to think. When he felt exasperated with his father or school, he ducked into the dark hallway between his room and his father's. It was an annex, an alley way that led to nowhere. He barely managed to slide into the gap, crammed in on either side by two dusty walls. The end of the hall was a wall, built to cut the space that would have led to nowhere anyway. He shut his eyes and covered his ear, feeling the quiet and stillness close in on him like two large hands grabbing onto him. Light from the outside leaked in. He kept his face away from it, as if disgusted by the illumination. When he finally exited the hall, he felt better and took the world with a fresh face, as he called it as a child.

Now he had no annex in his house. All he had was the back of the closet and the attic he never bothered to check. He thought of the attic sitting back there in the hazy darkness. With it came an image of someone's silhouette, blurred and shivering with the draft of reality. The darkness was not complete in the closet. He decided to try the attic. He left the room, walking past Emil and Tino without a word, and pushed open the door no one bothered to open. It was thin, hardly enough for him to fit through, but he managed. The paint peeled off the door and the stairs were dry blocks of wood unpainted and never carpeted.

Up the stairs he found the attic. Nothing was in there since neither he nor Tino had accumulated enough "junk" to store there. Berwald had to bend down so that the ceiling didn't bonk his head. A square window in one corner cut a ray of light so sharp it might cut into the room. He went to another corner and discovered spider webs, a dead squirrel, and an old newspaper. At the other corner, opposite the window so that the light barley touched it, there was a stack of old books. Their covers were worn and dirty, their pages falling apart. He went to them and picked up the first one. The previous owners must have left it there when they moved away, forgetting it along with a rug in the crawl space.

Berwald began to open the book when a scuffling interrupted him. He turned around, peering across the room. In a dark indent in the wall, next to the staircase, he though he saw something move. He set the book back down and went over. He assumed it was a small animal or maybe even a fly. Roaming over, he discovered that it was neither.

Peter stood there, watching him. His heart was in his throat. He was worried that Berwald was angry still.

"What are you doing up here?" Berwald asked, not annoyed but rather exhausted.

"I was just curious," Peter mumbled.

"Go back downstairs."

"But…"

"Go back."

"Okay…" Peter turned and started going down. He paused halfway down. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe we can make this a playroom or something."

"Maybe," Berwald considered it and realized that it would give him something to do. The job at the aquarium wasn't rewarding. He could use something else to inspire thought. When Peter had finally made it down, Berwald turned back to the attic. It would take some cleaning, a few tools, and maybe a helping hand. At the aquarium he had met up with a young man who didn't have much to do either. They had got along just fine. He planned to ask the young man the next day. Maybe that uncle could help too. But the mere thought of him sent Berwald's mind into a spitting rage.

He went back downstairs and met with Tino in their room. Tino looked at him, half afraid and half worried. He had a bed cloth in his arms to set up the other air mattress they had and set it in the living room. Berwald refused to host the guest in his office. The clean blue and red sheets, neatly folded, sat there, waiting to be slept on.

Berwald came closer, slowly. The light that filtered in from their window highlighted Tino's appearance, giving him an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance. His hair, fine threads of silvery blonde, glittered in the sun which wrapped around his thighs and arms, hugging his body and making it glow; shine.

"Are you feeling better?" Tino asked, raising his head to look at Berwald. Berwald stood there dumbly, staring at Tino in awe of his beauty. Tino's well formed pink lips lifted to show his teeth. A freckled located just below his left eye, hardly visible, was covered beneath the folds of skin and the long eyelashes that batted up and down like a hasty butterfly's wings.

Berwald took three steps forwards, bringing him close to Tino. He raised his hand and touched Tino's chin, gently pushing it up. He could feel Tino's jaw bone between the thick layer of soft, but firm, skin. Tino watched him and his eyes fluttered shut at once when Berwald's lips met with his. He remained that way for a while, kissing as a form of apology.

"Never leave me," Berwald said when he broke away, his lips hovering a centimeter away from Tino's.

"I promise I'll never leave you." Tino said with a smile.

"You scared me when you talked about dying."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Berwald kissed Tino's forehead.

"I'm sorry too."

* * *

The guest arrived not long after. He knocked on the door and Emil answered, wearing shorts and a baggy t-shirt. His shoulders began to expand but his hips stubbornly remained curved. He was nearing his eighteenth birthday. It hurtled closer and closer like a freight train.

The guest grinned at Emil. Behind him Berwald and Tino approached, Peter clinging to Berwald's side. The guest was, so to speak, a mess. His blonde hair stood out in every direction and bits of stubble he missed while shaving peppered the basin of each cheek. His lips were cracked and red, constantly moving as though he had something to say. His pants needed a belt and they slipped down to show the top of his underwear and a bulky side. In build he was tall and burly, his muscles bulging with every twitch.

"Hey," he said in a booming voice.

"Hello," Emil said, stepping back to allow him in. He entered and, with a greeting to Tino and a shift in expression to Berwald, patted Peter's head.

"Thanks for letting me stay here by the way," he said, scratching at the top of his poorly-buttoned dress shirt. "Oh and I have something for you all. I told a friend that I was visiting you and for some reason he wanted me to give you this."

He rifled through his patchy bag and pulled out a box wrapped in brown paper. He handed it to Tino.

"Thank you, Matthias." Tino said, tucking it under his arm. "We've made you a place to sleep in the living room. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, not at all."


	15. The Many Secrets of the Nighttime

**12.**

**The Many Secrets of the Nighttime**

Sunshine splattered the hall. Light fell like silk on the doors, catching on the doorknobs and glinting sharply. Matthias woke up to find his face covering in the golden light. He yawned and stretched, looking around to see if anyone else was awake. Peter and Emil still slept. Emil slept deeply, having left that night again.

Tino and Berwald were awake. Berwald was taking measurements of the attic and Tino was examining the box Matthias had given him. He sat on the bed, pulling the brown paper off, peeling it. Dust spurted out of the tears, particles of paper spilling into the air like smoke. He revealed a black box, addressed to Emil.

"Oh."

The sound popped out of his throat unexpectedly. He raised his eyebrows and pulled the rest of the box out of its sheath, throwing the paper away and carrying the container gingerly over to Emil's room. He planned to tuck it under his arm and have Emil wake to find it there.

His foot stopped midway to the floor. The doorway to the children's room was before him. The attic door was open. He could hear Berwald walking around on that top floor. Matthias lay back down in the living room, seeing Tino, and not wanting to bother him.

Emil still didn't know.

The sender was his brother.

Emil didn't know.

His brother was dead.

Emil  _still_  didn't know.

Tino went back to his bedroom and open a drawer; the one used for jewelry, and hid the box inside. He knew he was holding off telling Emil for too long. If he didn't tell Emil soon bigger problems would spur from this one. He decided that once Matthias went back home he would tell him. Matthias might know, however. After Tino and Berwald got together, their families closed in on one another, two separate beings raising their heads from dense forestry and spying each other, curiously sniffing and growling at one another. Emil's brother and Matthias had met, a series of events tumbled one after the other, and they very nearly formed a friendship. It's no shock that Matthias would have the package from him to give to Emil. But why didn't he give it right away to Emil? Matthias was a slob, a slipshod sculpture, that didn't often understand boundaries. Maybe he had some sense of empathy, then, for the loss of a brother. Matthias was no stranger to loss, after all.

Tino went into the living room, stepping lightly. Matthias raised his head and grinned.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," Tino said and went closer to him, placing himself neatly on the couch and scrutinizing Matthias's appearance. His hair was more ruffled than usual. "I know it's early still, but I have a favor to ask of you."

"Shoot."

Tino bent down, so that his breath tickled Matthias's neck. "Please don't tell Emil about his brother."

"Why not?" Matthias said, collecting the skin along the bridge of his nose and wrinkling it up, as though disgusted.

"He doesn't know what happened."

Before Matthias could interpose, Tino continued.

"I haven't told him because he's going through a very rough patch right now. I want him to get over this, so that I don't add more weight to the issue."

"He'll be mad at you."

"I know."

"When is he leaving your household?"

"When he turns eighteen."

"That's not a long ways away."

"I'll tell him before he leaves, for sure." Tino smiled vaguely and stood up, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. Moments later something on the pan was sizzling.

Emil and Peter woke up to the smell of breakfast. Emil grinned, knowing at once that Tino was in the kitchen. Peter imagined the delicious meal down below, ready to be devoured.

The two got up and while Emil dressed, Peter went to the bathroom. Through the door, Peter spoke with Emil. His voice echoed and resounded on the tiles, giving it a strange, otherworldly feel. Emil leaned against the door, listening to Peter tell him about the dream he had last night.

"I was in this field. There was a cow and she was following me. I was really happy, too, and I kept trying to put a hat on her head. The hat had flowers on it, pink and yellow and orange. She tried to shake it off so I got annoyed and ran away, hiding behind this huge tree. It was really, really gigantic. It went into the clouds and it didn't stop there. Its roots were thick and I kept tripping over them. The b… what's the word?"

"Bark?"

"Yeah, the bark was smooth and smelled really nicely."

"What a weird dream." Emil commented. The door opened and Peter rose to his tip-toes, jamming his red tooth brush in his mouth and brushing madly. Emil padded in, taking his own toothbrush and running it over his teeth. Peter's head was just short of Emil's ribs. Peter bumped into Emil when he ducked over to spit. He bumped into him again when Emil did the same. Emil looked at him and Peter burst into a fit of giggles. They nudged and wrestled for some time.

"Are you coming down to breakfast any time soon?" Tino called.

"Coming," Berwald's voice came from down the hall.

"Yeah, coming!" Emil and Peter called in unison.

"What did you dream of?" Peter asked, looking at Emil curiously, his round lips parted.

"I dreamed of ducks in a pond. It was boring." Emil explained hastily, examining himself in the mirror. A red blemish stood out on the side of his nose, and several others on his forehead and chin. He touched them in annoyance, splashing water on his face. In reality his dream was unfit for someone Peter's age.

The two brothers headed down and took their places at the table. Berwald arrived not long after.

Matthias smiled at them. Berwald ignored Matthias and pretended he didn't exist. He ate in silence. Berwald would have to be at work in half an hour. He devoured the pancakes. While he ate dessert everyone else was still on the main course. Taking a piece of toast, he spread butter on it and added a dollop of honey. Excusing himself, he left to get ready.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, like the last ashes in a hearth.

"How are you, Matthias?" Emil said. "I haven't seen you in a long time."

"I'm doing well, how are you?"

"Well, well…"

Peter raised his fork and held it above the plate of strawberries, deciding on which on he wanted. He lowered it to one of the smaller, rosier ones. Emil stabbed it with his fork and took it for himself. Peter pouted and Emil laughed. The laugh, staccato, quivered in the air. It was strained, the kind of laugh people make when they don't want to think about something.

Matthias was a common visitor in their household, when he lived with his older brother. His older brother was always uncomfortable, annoyed, but all at once terrified during these times. Matthias laughed, reeking of alcohol, and was too close to him. Emil watched this all, his skin crawling. There was something off in the relationship, something unhealthy, a malignant disease.

Upstairs, Berwald put on his light blue work shirt and jeans. Brushing his hair and stuffing his wallet in his back pocket, he left. Tino stood up from the table, carrying his empty plate to the sink and running lukewarm water over it. The grease slipped off. Berwald approached him from behind and hugged him, kissing Tino's neck and bidding him goodbye. As he left he hugged Peter and touched Emil's shoulder. Moments later the car pulled out of the driveway and vanished from the neighborhood. Matthias excused himself and went to prepare his belongings. He was in town for a reason, and that reason would become evident in time.

"What do you want to do?" Peter asked Emil. They both were off school and had nothing in particular to do.

Emil shrugged.

"Maybe we could go to the movies. I haven't seen one in a long time." Tino intervened.

"That sounds good!" Peter said.

"Go get ready and we'll head out."

Matthias left, waving his hand good bye, and shutting the door behind him.

* * *

The aquarium Berwald worked at was of the smaller kinds. It hosted school field trips on Fridays and Tuesdays and tourists on the other days. Berwald worked with three other people where the whales, jellyfish, and angler fish were kept. This portion was kept dark at all times. The eerie blue glow from the water illuminated the faces passing by, making them pale and ghostly. Red lights along the floor made sure no one tripped while walking past. Most of the workers tended the aquatic animals but Berwald, his three coworkers, and the others in different areas, took to cleaning the floor and taking care of the guests. When Berwald arrived and picked up the broom, the aquarium was vacant. An elderly couple walked hand in hand through the thin hallways, pointing at the translucent jellyfish floating in the waters. Small fish zipped along the very bottom. In the darkest corner of the tank an angler fish with her tiny male companion floated. The whale behind them moved soundlessly. The aquarium seemed to suck up all sound and consume it, toss it into a black hole. Even when the people spoke their voices were hushed. Words that escape were swept into that vortex and eyes, glowing in the darkness, focused on the animals in the water.

One of the three in his department was already there. She smiled broadly at Berwald. "Hello."

"Slow day," Berwald commented, sweeping invisible dust.

"Yeah, but I have a feeling it'll pick up. You know that couple that came last week? I have a feeling that they'll come. They seemed so enraptured by this place," she said. Her voice was pinched and high-pitched. Her dyed-blonde hair was tied up, exposing a tattoo on her neck. Her chest and body was broad and big, making her nearly the same height as Berwald. She leaned against the counter, filing papers and organizing the schedule.

"I hope the best for them," Berwald said. "Have you seen Matthew yet?"

"No, not yet," she shook her head, her rough lips pursed, "He's not usually late though."

A group of teenagers walked in then, digging through their pockets for money. It was a double date, with one straggler in between them, trying to speak up. The others ignored him and paid for the visit.

"Hi, Miss…" the leader looked over at Berwald's coworker's name tag. "Miss Monica. I'd like some tickets please."

"Sure thing, honey," Monica said and exchanged their money for several pink tickets. They took it and, chatting, went to the map and pointed to their destination. When the found it and decided which way to go, they turned sharply down a corner. Their voices were cut off by the walls. Fish flicked their tails in response and their wide never blinking eyes stared in their direction, pale lips contracting.

"Oh that poor dear," Monica shook her head. He's the alleged third wheel. I feel sorry for him."

"Is an aquarium a good place to take your loved one, though?" Berwald queried. "I suppose it's lovely and if both of you are interested in marine life then it could be a great place. But what if it's boring?"

"An aquarium isn't really a romantic place to begin with. Maybe it's just the feel of it. The quiet must attract lovers. It makes them closer. Or maybe further. I don't really know. I always went on dates to bars and restaurants, so I'm no expert in love." Monica laughed and went back to organizing at the front desk.

Berwald continued to sweep and empty trash cans when Matthew finally showed up. He hung his rucksack on the employee coat rack and yawned. He stretched his hands over his head, his blue shirt riding up and exposing his belly. "Good morning," he said, scratching his chest and checking into shift. His tawny, curled hair was tied back, some of it hanging in the front and curling around his thin, pointed face. Freckles dotted his cheeks, constellations that told stories of being out in the sun for too long. He had a habit of pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with a thick finger. Matthew was built like a lumberjack; his arms were broad and his neck craned forwards. When he wasn't on duty he wore flannel shirts and ripped jeans.

"Good morning, Matthew," Berwald said.

Matthew grinned. He and Berwald were on pretty good terms.

As they worked, picking up trash and monitoring the flow of customers, they chatted. The third coworker wasn't there that day. Monica often joined their conversation, but was constantly called back to the front desk to take tickets.

While opening up the concession stand, since the aquarium was short handed, Berwald said; "So I found out that the attic in my house would make a perfect playroom for my kids. Do you think you could spare some time to help me?"

"Oh, yeah, sure!" Matthew grinned, aligning the snacks on the rack. "I love remolding and building. That sounds like something I could actually really help you with. When do you want me to come? I'm free next weekend."

That would be after Matthias left. It sounded perfect.

Berwald said so.

"Great!" Matthew gave him a thumbs-up. "Plus, I don't think I know any of your family. And then again you don't know much about mine."

"That's true. You should tell me about it." Berwald said to kill some time.

"It's really boring."

"So what? I still want to hear it."

"Well, you asked for it. It's just me, my brother, and our mom. Our dad left when we were kids because of a fight he got in with our mom. Mom was the best. Then some things happened and things went downhill. My brother was just fine, actually. He was the best in school, the foot ball player, the one you always looked to. Now he has a job and he's planning on finally settling. And here I am. I'm a mess. I'm just drifting here and there. I like this job so I hope to stay a while. What about you?"

"I'm not that interesting either. I lost my job a while ago, just after we adopted our son, and then our family expanded a little when my husband's cousin had to come live with us. I think he's a cousin. I'm not too sure. He's not very clear about his family. His family was pretty harsh on him anyway. And now I'm here."

"Cool," Matthew nodded, running his fingers through his hair.

* * *

The movie was not great, but it wasn't terrible. It followed the life story of a young woman, tall, moody, and the owner of a beautiful villa in the forest. The scenery made up for the lack of plot and ideas. She hosted a variety of different people in her houses, all the while saying she never wanted anyone to look in her basement. Inevitably one particular visitor along with his little sister went down there. In the musty basement, which the violin music was particularly fond of, they discovered a hidden library where a stash of priceless objects littered the floor. They spent hours down there while there mother talked with the owner of the house. The scenes alternated between the women's chat and the children's exploration. They leafed through the books, picked up the jewels, and had moments of guilt dawn on them like storm clouds. Towards the end of the film they discover a gilded chest in the furthest back room. The final shot is of the main woman's neck, where a chain hangs. It cuts there. Tino, Peter, and Emil left with the conclusion playing out in their heads clearly. It was no surprise what would happen next, if anything were to happen. The dialogue was cheesy and except for the camera angles, everything else was mediocre. Peter enjoyed it. It was an average family flick that did no harm. Emil was slightly annoyed. Tino thought nothing more of it. It was just a film to cut away the time.

Emil left Tino and Peter to go for a walk. Tino took Peter home where he would prepare lunch and Peter would do some homework. He had a book report due soon. Emil watched them drive back home and left the other way. The theatre was located in a plaza, surrounded by barbers, stores, restaurants, eye doctors, orthodontists, and a park. Emil walked around the plaza for some time, watching the clouds collect overhead, heavy with rain. People flowed past him, some talking, others silently enjoying the cool air. One girl had a bag filled with art supplies, sticking out of the crowd because of her ragged, gruff appearance. People were stepped away from her, ignoring her subconsciously. She kept her head ducked, her black hair hiding her face like curtains. She reminded Emil of his friend in the park. She must have felt just as distant from everyone else as her.

His feet took him to a bridge. It hung over the lake below. The waters rippled like molten silver. Nothing below was seen. Emil leaned over the railing, looking across the river where the sky met the earth in one seamless fold. The clouds hung in layers, the heaviest one down low, pregnant with water. The higher up he looked the less of the sky he could see. The sun, a red, burning dot in the furthest corner of the sky, sitting atop a throne and watching the earth roam around it, pulled into orbit by its mighty mass.

A light rain began to fall, a mist cloaking the ground. People yelped as it touched them and rushed to find somewhere to hide from the wet. Many stayed out, hands spread to enjoy the calm downpour, to feel tiny kisses touching their skin and cleansing them. Emil was one of those people. He stayed on that railing, head bowed, allowing the rain to wash over him. It built up in speed and velocity, coming down like hard rocks and plummeting down on Emil's back. Water dripped down his legs and into his collar, catching in his hair and weighing it down. It stuck to his face. Heavy droplets clung to his eyelashes, latching on like insects. When he felt chilled to the bone, he turned away and started the walk back home. Their city was small. It didn't require a car. But cars had become a sort of fashion there.

At home, Emil let himself in. Tino looked at him and shook his head, demanding that he draw himself a hot bath. Emil did just that. He went into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and pouring steaming water into the tub. He slipped off his soaked clothes, having to roll them off where they clung the most. He set them in a sopping pile and slipped into the bathwater, washing his skin with his hands and huddling until the warmth seeped into his bones. His feet wavered beneath the water, bony and cold. He set his face in his knees, his nose crushed to one side. His body felt soft and, as it slowly warmed, tears slipped down his face. He didn't realize they had left his tear ducts until a sob choked him. He didn't know what he was crying about. He felt bad, sick, and the bitterness was so sweet.

Comforted by the heat and silky soap, Emil fell into a light doze somewhere midway between waking and sleep. But he could grasp on to just enough of haze to dream. He dreamt of his brother. His brother was in front of a city. The city lights flickered in and out of reality, becoming dim points like stars and then so intensely bright they could cut. His brother was looking at Emil with his trademark expressionless face. His hair fell on his face, thick yellow strands curled at the ends. The whipped in and out, never exposing his eyes. But Emil could feel no wind. Some faceless, shapeless stranger came up to his brother, grabbed him by the neck and tilted him back. He raised his fist, where a blade was clutched, and rammed it into his brain. There was so much blood, ribbons and ribbons of it flying out and splattering Emil's metaphysical body. He could feel the hot drops sting him.

Emil snapped away, shivering from fear. He looked around and found himself still in the bathtub. Rain fell on the walls and roof, tapping like long nails. Emil got out of the tub, water sloshing. He had been there for some time, his skin wrinkled.

He had been having the dream nearly every night. It robbed him of sleep. Even though he needed to sleep, he didn't want it. Emil dressed and went to the kitchen. A meal covered in plastic wrap waited for him. Tino and Peter were out of the house. Steam clung to the plastic. He peeled it off and ate the steamed vegetables and meat silently, leaning on the counter and listening to the rain.

* * *

The Archives contained a series of diagrams depicting a house, a series of references, and a note. The note was supposedly written by a mother to her son, who was the strange boy of London. The page was the actual paper, yellowed and old. The mother's handwriting was cramped, but still easily read. There seemed to have at one point been many more notes, or letters, but they were stained with a dark red substance that stupefied Berwald. He read these in the night, inside his office, and under a cloak of heavy silence. He flipped through the pages, reading them like a magazine, some parts he focused on, others he completely dismissed. The not however caught his attention. It was in the same format that Peter's mother used, but it wasn't hurt. This both frightened Berwald and calmed him. This meant that the boy they referred to here was not Peter, but very similar. He didn't like what he was getting himself into.

_October 19xx_

_Hello my son. I know you have been parted from me because I am a bad mother. You were such a strange infant too_

[stained]

_But there's a shadow latched onto my feet. It scares me. It's so close, clinging to me with dirty nails, biting me. It's drinking my blood. It's eating my flesh, chewing my bones, grinding them with sharp teeth, hurting me, no, killing me. I'm so afraid my dear boy. Maybe it's because you are so far away. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I need you boy. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I need you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

_They said I shouldn't have written so much. I wrote too graphically. I am sorry. I'm so sorry boy. I need to tell you something first. It's something very important. But you are a smart boy. You will understand what I am doing when I write nonsense. Ha! Even, really another perpetual eternity determines my evolution. Your father, the doctor, and all of them are so horrible to me._

_They told me about you. They told me about what happened to you. They told me that you were a horrible child. That you were sick. You're just like mommy._

_But mommy loves you_

The letter continues on nonsensically. It made Berwald's head hurt. He decided, after flipping through the pages one more time that he would return the book the next day. It was a mistake to check it out in the first place. As he set it aside, he noticed something else, something new. A brown box, fine and smooth, was sitting near him. It hadn't been there before. He brought it closer and realized that it was to Emil from his brother. Tino must have hidden it there. No one dared enter Berwald's study. Even if Berwald was docile, he was still frightening and intimidating. He, sleepy and low on common sense, pried the lid off. Inside of it, wrapped in colored paper, were some objects that Emil's brother had given him. It was a physical will. Berwald, feeling guilt, shut the box and put it in his drawer, so as to resist further temptation.

Berwald exited his office and stopped. He wasn't alone in the hallway. He looked to his side and found Peter's door opening. Emil snuck out, yawning into his wrist. He was in shorts and a t-shirt. So, he hadn't gone out that night.

"What are you doing up?" Berwald asked.

"I'm thirsty." Emil said.

"Alright, don't stay up too long." Berwald turned away. The rift between the two was opening. Berwald was never very fond of Emil. He still cared for him and appreciated the bond Emil had formed with Peter, but he never loved Emil. It was like a brick wall in his heart, preventing the flow of emotions from reaching Emil. Maybe they were too different. Tino got along with Emil just fine. But then again, that was Tino.

Entering the bedroom, Berwald slipped between the covers and hugged Tino close to him. Tino opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. He smiled at Berwald. Berwald kissed Tino's shoulders and neck.

.

Emil went to the kitchen, his bare feet sticking to the tiles. He grabbed a glass of water and downed it, his parched throat carrying the water into his stomach. He rarely left to get water or use the restroom in the night. But ever since he stopped visiting her, he had found himself parched more often.

In the living room, Matthias stirred and sat up. He would be leaving soon. He didn't feel welcome in this vicinity, although Tino had strived to make him comfortable. Emil entered the living room to go into the hall, but Matthias stopped him.

"Come closer, I want to talk to you just for a little bit." Matthias whispered.

"Why now?" Emil grunted, "You can just talk to me in the morning. I'm exhausted."

"I know. But this is the only time we'll have enough privacy. Just come a little closer, okay? Just for a little bit."

"Fine," Emil walked over to Matthias, who patted his side. Emil sat down next to him, feeling Matthias's body heat encroaching on him. "What do you want?"

Matthias stretched out, folding his arms behind his head. Outside the rain had lifted, leaving the world wet and enveloped in the metallic scent. Light from the pale moon painted the walls and the paintings on the wall. One painting, given by some old family friend, showed a snowy field under an eclipse. The snow looked as though it was stained with blood from the hot sun and moon. The blood dripped from the sky and landed on the trees and plants. Another painting was of a desert. The sun burned overhead, making the sand look like bits of gold. A snake slithered on one of the dunes, its green and black scales glittering. Matthias admired both of them, before yawning and turning to Emil.

"Do you miss your brother?"

"Yeah," Emil said, staring at Matthias curiously, trying to decipher his expression in the shadows.

The smell of cigarette smoke clung to the air.

"Have you been smoking?" Emil asked. "If you are, just stop. You'll make the house smell horrible."

"I haven't been smoking. I quit."

"Sure."

"You don't believe me?"

"I don't."

"Did you hear about the hooker who tried to raise a kid?"

"No and I don't want to. I want to sleep."

"Then have you heard about the house that was bigger on the inside?"

"No."

"What about the bottomless lake?"

"What the hell do you want?"

"I want to know why you hate me."

Emil stood up, ready to leave. He found himself unable to move. Matthias had grabbed his arm, clutching on to the bony wrist.

"I want to know what you hate me." Matthias repeated, this time more sternly.

Emil narrowed his eyes. "I know what you did."

"Oh."

"Now let me go."

"No."

* * *

After Matthias left, Matthew came over and he and Berwald began fixing the attic. Berwald had some extra materials in the crawl space he had bought with plans on fixing some of the house without ever getting to it. They started by adding carpentry. Matthew even brought his tools along. When they finished taking the measurements and setting down the carpet Berwald went to buy more materials. He had underestimated how much he needed. He left Matthew at home. Peter was at the park with several friends and Emil was in his room.

Matthew lingered in the kitchen, drinking a beer and talking with Tino. Tino smiled often and talked softly.

"I'm sad that Berwald had to hold this off until now. He could have just asked Matthias for help. That would have helped make their relationship stronger." Tino said. Matthew had heard of Matthias.

"Yeah, some building helps men bond; or so they say."

They fell silent. Matthew sipped his drink and Tino reorganized the knives, for lack of a better thing to do. When Berwald was building, he refused any sort of intrusion. He made Tino sit out until he was done, and then would ask for Tino's help to move the furniture and decorate the room.

Thinking of this, Matthew said; "Doesn't it bother you that Berwald kicked you out of the project?"

"No," Tino shook his head. "I'm used to it, you can say. I mean, I don't let him interfere when I'm doing my own thing. So I suppose he has that right too."

"I see."

"So how is it with you? Do you have a significant other?"

"Nope," Matthew stretched his arms out, looking out the window to see if Berwald had returned. "I'm all on my own."

"Do you want one?"

"Not really; I mean, if one happened to drop by I wouldn't complain. But I'm not actively looking."

"Don't you want any children?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I just don't. Not now."

Tino nodded slowly. Matthew set his broad hand on his shoulder. "I'm not exactly the nurturing kind like you."

Tino looked at Matthew's hand, scared from the webbing between the thumb and forefinger to the side of his wrist.

"What happened there?" Tino asked, indicating the scar.

"This?" Matthew lifted his hand, somewhat reluctantly, and examined the scar as though he had never seen it before. "Oh, this is nothing. My brother and I were roughhousing when things got too rough and I hit my hand on something. It was a while back. Boy, did mom lose it. She yelled at us for a long time, while she took me to the hospital. There was a lot of blood, too. I remember that I had to throw away my shirt since it was so badly stained."

"It must have hurt."

"Not really, since I was in so much shock. Shock numbs the pain, you know?"

"I've heard," Tino said distantly.

Matthew leaned forward, putting his hand back on Tino's shoulder. He was a head taller than Tino. Tino, uncomfortable with the closeness, leaned his head back.

"Have you ever cheated on Berwald?" Matthew asked.

"No and I don't plan to." Tino said, stepping back.

Matthew shrugged nonchalantly. "I was just wondering. You two are adorable together. You fit like two pieces of a puzzle. It'd be horrible if you were separated." And he meant it when he said it, too.

Berwald returned and after four hours of work, the attic was complete. Tino helped them put the extra sofa inside as well as a table. They were low on money, so any electronics were out of the question. They settled with putting an old stereo in the corner, in case the silence got to be too much. The room smelled of paint and construction. They left it to air out, forbidding Peter from going upstairs until it was fit to play in.

Peter, still sore over having lost his camping trip rejoiced at this and submitted to any rules.

* * *

That night, Tino told Berwald about Matthew.

"Don't worry about it," Berwald said. "He's like that. I'm certain he didn't mean any harm."

"But…" Tino said, stretching his arms and gliding them up Berwald's sides, scooting closer, "they gave me an electric feeling which made me think of you. It was horrible waiting so long until night fall." He gave Berwald a wily grin.

Berwald shook his head and gently pushed Tino's hand away.

"My head's hurting again. I don't think now is a good time."

"Of course," Tino kissed Berwald and hastily turned over.

"Good night," Berwald muttered, rolling on to his back and staring at the ceiling. Pain throbbed in his forehead. He shut his eyes. Other than the pain, he was at peace with the world. That is, until he opened his eyes again.

Tino wasn't there.

It was too early for Tino to go to work. Berwald thought nothing of his absence. He got up, dressed, washed, and went downstairs. Still, no sign of Tino. The living room was clean and free of any guest. Berwald went over to it, fixing the doily under one of the vases and rubbing a black smudge from the floor. Matthias must have moved a lot in his sleep and dirtied the floor with the bottom of his mattress. Berwald went to the kitchen and found a note. The handwriting was unmistakably Tino's and it said:

_I'm sorry._

_I love you._


	16. Her Story Part II

**13.**

**Her Story Part II**

It was not until the  **Fourth Encounter**  that Emil learned what the rest of her story was. The previous encounters he talked about himself. She listened patiently and was very kind about it all. She was a patient listener and never interrupted, unless to ask a question where Emil couldn't quite explain himself properly.

Emil sat next to her in the park. She had cut her hair and now was cleaner.

"I finally bought an apartment. It's a shoddy thing in a bad neighborhood, but it's the best I can do. They can't break me any further than I've already been broken. And doesn't being broken make you stronger sometimes? I think that's what they say. They say that if you break your fingers then the bone that's there afterwards is a lot stronger. I don't think it's true for everything else, though. And anyway, I just came here to see if you would visit me. I missed you, you know? You take a lot of time between your visits. If you don't show up by midnight I leave. I wonder if you've ever come here and you didn't find me because I was asleep at home."

"No. I always found you here. I'm sorry for taking so long." Emil said.

"Do you want to hear the rest of my story?"

"Yes."

"Well where do I start? Well I went to live with my aunt and uncle for some time. They lived near the beach so at first I was really happy to go there. This was during the summer. I think it was after this point that things got worse. I didn't tell you this, or even hint this, before because I didn't know how to say it. Well, now I do. I had to go to their house because my parents were both on business trips and I had nowhere else to go. Also, it was partially by choice. I wanted to see the ocean. When I got there, though, I learned that the ocean was freezing cold and the sand was rocky and uncomfortable. And my aunt and uncle lived a long walk away from the moody sea. There was no point in going to it anyway. So I gave up on it. For the rest of the time I spent inside the house. I read and I just looked around the big, pretty house.

"But the bad part was that my aunt hated me. She really, really hated me. If she saw me take one toe out of line she would smack me. Sometimes it really, really hurt. She wouldn't feed me. She would put me in a closet and beat me until I was bruised. But she was also afraid that my parents would find out what happened to me and would try to cover the wounds. A month before I got back home she stopped touching me. She treated me nicely, trying to cover her tracks I suppose. At the time, since I was so young, I didn't understand it. I thought that it was normal. I thought that when she hit me she didn't really mean it. I thought that when she started treating me better she was feeling guilty for yelling and hurting me. So she was trying to compensate for it all. She bought me candy sometimes, too.

"Maybe, now that I think of it, she had a complex for hitting and hurting. She hurt her husband a lot, who hurt me too. He didn't hurt me until the last day. He entered my room in the night and hit me over and over and over again. I have scars on my thighs. He hit me there because no one would then be able to see it. They're faint now.

"After all this I went home and I tried to tell my mom and dad, since I realized that it wasn't normal. I flinched when people touched me. I don't like it when someone raises their hand near me. I tried to get better but maybe I did something wrong in the healing process that ruined me forever. Something happened that just broke me. Something really, really bad; like you forgot that one screw or bolt and now the machine, even though they work fine, are broken in some unfixable way. I was undone. I was broken. My pain was eating me up. It split me from the crowds. I couldn't recognize kindness anymore. All I knew was that I didn't belong and that, even though I was harmed, I still thought my life was boring. I still wanted to get away from it all even if it ruined me further. I think at the point I made that decision I thought I was invincible. Even though now I know I'm not, I regret nothing. If I could go back I wouldn't change anything. If those choices were presented to me I would make the same ones, I wouldn't change anything. I got what I wanted. I deserve what I got. And, what's more, I feel like it's made me a stronger person. But if I ever have kids I'll tell them that they shouldn't do it because it's just not worth it.

"But since I doubt I'll have kids I'm going to tell that to you. Don't run away from your problems. Stand up and face them. It's generic advice, I know, but it's the best I have."

Emil nodded slowly. He took it all in.

She took a deep breath and continued talking, taking his hand and gently squeezing it before letting it go, causing it to fall to the bench like a frail, broken tree branch.

"Do you believe in souls?"

"Maybe."

"Then let me tell you what I think souls are. I think that you can get it. I know this isn't true, but sometimes I imagine taking someone and grabbing a knife. I would cut into their ribs and reach in. Then I would grab something hard, round, like a chestnut, and pick it out. It is connected to all these capillaries and nerves and tissue. It glows and, although it has a tough exterior, it's all mushy on the inside. After what happened to me that's how I think my soul is. I think, like a bug, it has an exoskeleton. The inside of it was hurt by my aunt and uncle so I had to build a tougher outer layer. The outer layer still isn't enough. I still have to grow more and more but to do that I have to get hurt more and more. Does that make sense?"

"Perfectly."

"Oh, you understand me so well." She said, smiling.

"I don't think I do. I don't understand myself, even though I'm the same way."

"Really?"

"I was hurt a lot, too."

"Oh."

"So was my brother."

"We're all hurt, then."

"Yeah."

Emil turned to her and kissed her cheek briefly. She didn't smell bad anymore. He stood up, blushing deep crimson.

She touched her cheek.

"What was that for?"

"I love you."

"No, you don't. You love who you think I am."

"Don't give me that bullshit. I love you because you listened to me. Tino loves me but he won't listen. Peter's too young to listen. Berwald hates me…." Tears poured down his burning cheeks. He covered his face. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, letting go after a moment.

"I have a boyfriend, you know." She said.

"What? Since when?" Emil muttered through his tears.

"Not long ago, really," she said, wishing she would have held her tongue. "I'm sorry."

Emil nodded. His desire for her soft skin and kind words fell away at once. He excused himself and ran back home.

The next two or so meetings they barely talked. They enjoyed the silence with one another, looking up at the stars and enjoying each other's company. On the final **encounter**  she told him that she couldn't come anymore.

"My job will stretch into midnight. It's the only way I can make enough money for food."

Emil looked at her and submitted to the truth.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"Do you still want to sleep with me?" She touched his arm.

"You have a boyfriend."

"Think of it as a favor and not a romantic thing."

He shook his head. "No. I never wanted to sleep with you."

"Oh?"

"I love you, but I'm not in love with you."

"I see."

"I'm sorry."

"That's all right."


	17. And So It Ends

**14.**

**And So It Ends**

Their shadows stretched out in the blue light, nearly meeting midway. But the only light came from their sides. Berwald looked down at his shadow, dark like ink, and moved. It moved too. Or maybe it moved first. He couldn't tell. The light that created (framed?) the shadows came from an open balcony. Outside the snow fell silently, pouring in ethereal silver light that turned blue on contact with the carpeted floor.

On the other side a figure stood. Although Berwald could not see the face bathed in darkness, he knew it was Tino. No one else held his body so, no one else had those same delicate folds and lines, and no one else had those gentle hands before him. Tino's legs were bare, pouring from the darkness and seemingly connected to nothing. The skin was white, eerily white, and thin. Berwald had seen those legs a thousand times before, but now they seemed like something new and different.

"Why do we have to be here?" Berwald said at last, his voice digging into the silence like daggers.

"It's the only place you can see me."

"I can't see you, though. It's too dark."

"Exactly," Tino said. His feet shifted. The two marble statues slid right back into the darkness.

For an abstract moment, separate from time, Berwald pictured himself as Pygmalion. He had carved, with his thick hands, the beautiful body out of marble. He built it with such tender love and care and wished a hundred, a thousand, wishes for it to spring to life. Perhaps some deity will pick up the marble statue before him and breathe life into the cold stone.

"Why are our shadows like this?" Berwald asked, coughing into his fist.

"You know why. Don't act like this." Tino's gentle voice came in waves, carried by the air, and once it touched Berwald's ears it evaporated like sea foam.

"I suppose I do."

"I'm sorry for leaving you."

"I forgive you."

"No, you don't."

"I don't. Why am I lying?"

"You want to convince yourself."

"And here you are, telling me exactly what I know."

Tino laughed.

Outside the snow fell in soft, fat flakes. It leisurely drifted down, contacted the mound of snow already there, and vanished. Aside from the omnipresent snow and the needles of moonlight, nothing else could be distinguished from the world outside. Light pink curtains were pulled apart to expose the snow outside, tied by a golden rope to bronze holders.

"It's lovely outside, isn't it?" Tino said. Although Berwald couldn't see him, he knew that he had turned his face to the windows.

"It's very lovely." Berwald said, uninterested.

Again he was reverted back to the image of Pygmalion. He didn't remember the legend all too well, but he knew the feeling of it. He could see that beautiful women, with a womanly figure, and her robes flowing loosely about her. She matched the beauty of Aphrodite, but she was frozen in place within that stone. Her eyes were unseeing, her ears never hearing, and her fingers cold to the touch and unfeeling. And yet that man fell deeply in love with her. He fell in love with his own creation. He fell in love with what came from his own fingers and hands. Or was she ivory? She must have been ivory.

When Tino continued his silence, Berwald let his thoughts drift further. There was Aphrodite, the goddess of love, formed of sea foam. She was so beautiful that looking at her made your heart burn and pain engulf your being. From what? Jealousy? Even when she caught Helen and brought her up to the mountain, foretelling her of her husband Paris's fate, Helen regarded Aphrodite with the same drive as others. Drive was too harsh a word. But her emotions to Aphrodite were far from compassion. What stuck out from the story, to Berwald, was her birth. She came from the temporary foam, the same material that the little mermaid becomes at the end of her tale. What a poetic way to die!

"Do you still love me?" Tino asked.

"Of course I do."

"Then you are mad at me for leaving."

"Of course I am."

"I was thinking of leaving you some time ago."

"Why?"

"I'm a bad person. I'm unfaithful. Accuse me of infidelity, perhaps. I am unable to comply to a certain matter, no matter how much I want to. It's a flaw in my character, as big and deep as a burn from oil. But in the end, even though I held on for so long, my hands began to hurt and I had to let go of that rope. I'm a weak person, Berwald. I'm not like you."

"When your family crumbled you still held on."

"No I didn't. You held on for me. I simply hung on your back. I clutched onto your shoulders, making you do all the work. For that I'm still so sorry. I'm so horribly sorry. I'll never forgive myself. I used you. I used every last drop of you. Even your brain disease; that was caused by me. I know."

"No it couldn't have. That was a hereditary disease and you know it."

"Yes, but it was brought on by me. It came out because of my darkness."

"Tino…"

"Remember when I told you about that train station?"

"Yes."

Tino seemed to shift. His shadow twitched, sliding backward an inch. The snow continued to fall. "Well," he continued, "I lied about it. I told you I would wait until you came by in your own train. But I can't wait that long. I'm going to get up from my spot. I'm going to leave the hassle of people going by, all without luggage like runaways, and go. I'll take the route highlighted in pale beige tiles and I'll go and go and go. After a journey, I don't know how long, I'll end up somewhere. I don't know if it will be a kingdom or a forest, or maybe even a paradise. Maybe there will be nothing at all. Maybe all there will be is darkness or lightness or neither. Maybe I'll just stay in that glow until I can't hear the rattle of trains anymore."

"I understand where we are now."

"Good."

"Where are Peter and Emil?"

"Safe on terrestrial earth, I presume. Emil's twenty-nine now and he's taken in Peter. You know, your death came as a real shock."

"I'm dead?"

"Yes."

"I thought you said you wouldn't wait for me."

"I didn't. I never did. I just came to meet you because you wanted me to. I'm not going on. I've been without you for what? Eleven years? I didn't watch. How were things?"

"They were fine. I got a better job and I could fend for them all well enough. Emil left not long after, shaking off his past, the mortal coil, and Peter went on to college. He's with Emil, as you know, but just until he finishes whatever major he's in."

"I'm proud. You never looked for me, did you?"

"I waited instead. I had a feeling you'd come when I needed you and you did."

"What?" Tino's shadow shifted in surprise.

"You said so yourself. You came now."

"Well, yes."

"So you didn't let go, did you? You always held on to that last thread."

Tino didn't respond.

"I think I've accepted that I'm dead now. What was it? That brain disease finally caught up with me?" Berwald laughed uneasily and looked down. Of course now he possessed no physical body, but its essence, the last remainder of his brain activity, made a hallucination of a body. His real body was dead in his house. Emil and Peter would come for a visit some day and find an eviction note, or maybe they would first get the call, or maybe they'd find the body. He hoped they wouldn't find the body there, lying, rotting, decaying, defiling the carpet, reeking…

"…and then they'll give you all the precious roses."

_**end** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I mentioned before, this was on another site. I will also transcribe here the notes I had at the end of the story on the other site.   
>  had trouble deciding when, where, and how to end this. But it came to me last night. I could see the image so perfectly in my head. I could see the shadows in the middle of a rectangle of light, impossibly facing the same way. I could see the snow falling. I could feel the cold. In fact, I didn't know I was ending it until half way through the chapter. I felt that I had no more to say. I could have invented a thousand new plot lines, a thousand new characters, but then I would lose the true goal of this story: a simple love story. Sure, it's a fanfiction, but I wrote it. I reinvented the characters, I made bonds, and what's more I poured my heart in soul into it. Writing is my passion. And to have passion is to suffer. I suffered a lot writing this because I knew that it would never be popular. It would never be notorious. So I wrote it for myself in the end, just to give me hope and motivation. And then your reviews, however supple, came along and motivated me all the more. I can't thank you enough.
> 
> And in return I tried to put as much thought fodder into the story. I tried to leave many questions unanswered. What seem like mistakes are (unless they are typos) probably there for a purpose. I never played the card of ultimate heart break since it wouldn't fit in anywhere. Instead I give you this abstract chapter with a surreal image as its center. I gave you a house where everything happened. I gave you a man with a rotten past, I gave you a fictional girl with no name, and I hope, I sincerely hope, I gave you a good time reading this.
> 
> What's more, I hope that you'll remember this story. You may not, and I don't mind. I'm just a lowly writer.
> 
> Thank you for reading. Fare thee well, my precious story.
> 
> Additional Notes:
> 
> Pygmalion refers to a real story about the king of Cyprus who falls in love with an ivory statue of a woman. Also refers to an English play by George Bernard Shaw.
> 
> Aphrodite is the Greek Goddess of love. (Her Latin name is Venus). She was either born of sea foam or from a dalliance between Zeus and some other mythological being.
> 
> Winter is symbolic of death, fall of old age, summer of youth, and spring of renewal.
> 
> Trains are symbols of traveling from one destination to one much further off, commonly from life to death.
> 
> I constantly forgot to mention that Peter had very curly hair which annoyed him to the point of pinching the curls and laying them flat against his face in hopes of flattening them.
> 
> Emil and Peter's age differences are also symbolic. I put many symbols in but to explain them would be to undermine the reader's intelligence.


End file.
